


Little Moments

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (don't get too excited), Adoption, Almost Sex, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Anniversary, Assassin's Creed AU, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Bear cameo, Circus, Coffee, Comfort, Crossover, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Drunk!Bucky, Elf!Clint, Fluff, Gambling, Guardian Angels, Headcanon, Ice Cream, Injury, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Murder, Pickpockets, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Push AU, Scooby Doo AU, Sky High AU, Slushies, Smoking, Tahiti, Teenagers, Vampires, and so many more there's no point in me listing them all, angel!bucky, assassin!Clint, bucky knits, deaf!Clint, dwarf!Bucky, ghost!Clint, ghost!bucky, hay loft shenanigans, kid!Clint, prompts, punks, templar!Bucky, winterhawk - Freeform, youtube au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 86
Words: 41,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is like rain - every raindrop is a moment in time, falling together to make a giant puddle of moments, rippling out and affecting other moments; and sometimes it's hard to see how they fit together at all, but equally, it doesn't matter - what matters is that, without those raindrops, you wouldn't be the puddle you are today. And considering that (most) humans are seventy per-cent water, that's a whole lot of important raindrops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Headcanon

**Author's Note:**

> Just a load of Winterhawk drabbles prompted (or not) out of me on Tumblr that didn't fit into my Gently 'verse. Which means that this will go on indefinitely... ;-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my random Winterhawk headcanons, for whatever universe, mostly unrelated. This chapter will be updated on its own, so check up on it from time to time ;-)

_For a deaf!Clint Winterhawk universe._

Before Clint got hearing aids, Bucky used to sing around the apartment. He’d tell Clint how the others sometimes praised his voice, how he’d been encouraged to consider being a choirboy by one of the orphanage nuns back before the war, and Clint would secretly imagine Bucky singing to him. Then, when he finally does get the aids, he overhears Bucky singing in the kitchen; the first thing he says that morning is “You’re a dirty liar, Barnes. And a dream-ruiner.” 

_(This is just one of my Winterhawk ‘verses - in most of them, Bucky’s singing is pretty good and no-one has a problem with it on the off-chance they ever hear him.)_

***

_For a deaf!Clint Winterhawk ‘verse again._

Sometimes, in the mornings, Bucky asks Clint if he’d like pancakes for breakfast - at least, he thinks he does. Clint decides not to tell him that he’s got the gesture for ‘pancake’ wrong, because what he actually signs is much more amusing, and that’s why he smiles whenever Bucky asks. Though he loves the pancakes, too. 

_Sadly, I don’t know ASL well enough to be able to say what Bucky actually signs… :-(_

***

Bucky and Clint have found the perfect way to wind Tony up. It starts over breakfast one morning, when in a moment of silence Bucky randomly says “One-hundred and seventy-eight” to Clint, who nods and carries on with his coffee. Tony asks what he means, but Bucky just shrugs and says “Nothing important,” then leaves. 

Later, as they’re gathering for a movie night, Clint turns to Bucky and says “Two-hundred and three.” Bucky scowls at him. Tony tries to ask what they’re talking about again but Natasha glares at him because the movie’s starting and he’d like to get through one screening with her unscathed. 

This continues for weeks: Clint and Bucky randomly exchange numbers whenever they see each other, sometimes twice a day, and Tony cannot get a straight answer about it from them. “You’re talking in code, aren’t you?” he guesses. “That’s what you assassin-spies do. What are you coding about? And does it involve me? It better not involve me. If it does you’ll regret it, and then Steve’ll try and make me regret making you two regret, and he might actually succeed and that’s just too much regret.” Bucky and Clint simply look at each other, raise an eyebrow, smirk, and say, “Nothing to do with you Stark.” 

"So it’s a code - what for?" Of course, neither answers him, and he spends even more time trying to work out what they’re up to. The numbers vary, but rarely exceed three digits. Sometimes Bucky gives the higher number, sometimes Clint. Sometimes one will say it in the morning, with the other replying later on, and sometimes they say them at the same time. Occasionally it happens on missions. Tony can’t work it out (nor why no-one else seems bothered by it) but declares he won’t rest until he finds out what Sniper One and Sniper Two are plotting. "Alright Pepper, I’ll take naps, just for you and Steve. But between the naps I won’t rest." 

In reality, it’s just their scores from target practise - or how many enemies they take out in a mission. It just amuses them to see Tony sweat. And there may be a few bucks riding on how long it takes the genius billionaire to figure it out.

***

_Winterhawk in a Hogwarts AU._

It’s no secret, thanks to a certain frosty-natured Slytherin, that Clint Barton is a Muggle-born and not the best when it comes to spells and potions. He shouldn’t let it get to him - after all, he has a great group of friends spanning all the houses who couldn’t give a damn about his aptitude in class or his family background - but the spiteful word (that shall not be mentioned here) still rings loud after three years of having it thrown his way, and sometimes he needs a break from this world. 

Nobody knows where Clint goes to skip lessons and human contact - nobody except one Bucky Barnes, who worked out that the Hufflepuff tower facing the school on the Quidditch pitch offered the best view of the grounds during their second year. When he finds Clint, he asks him for stories about growing up in a Muggle circus, and for however long Clint talks Bucky can’t take his eyes off him; and if he had to give up a limb to make Clint’s face light up the way they do when he rambles on like this, hands and arms helping describe every action and interaction mentioned, Bucky thinks he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

And as easy as it is to take that back when you’re scraping owl droppings from the Owlery floor because Filch went and snitched on you as you were sneaking back into the school, Bucky really does mean it. Clint tells him he’s being idiotic instead of saying that nobody’s ever expressed their love for him in such a way before. Not that he needs to: it’s written on his face.

***

**Who cooks:** Mostly Bucky, because Clint’s culinary skills have only ever needed to be ‘microwave this’ and ‘stick that in the oven’ - and that’s when he remembers. 

**Who does the laundry and other chores:** They each take care of their own laundry, and the rule is ‘See the chore, do the chore’. Bucky tends to be cleaner, though. 

**How many children do they have:** None. Theirs isn’t a life that lends itself to families, and after one day of babysitting Danielle Cage they both agreed they weren’t the best when it came to looking after kids. 

**Who’s more dominant:** Neither really. They take turns when it comes to sex, but the idea of submission doesn’t sit well with them (for various reason). 

**Favorite nonsexual activity:** Chilling down at the shooting range. Especially when there are new recruits doing target practise (which is also, coincidentally, the only time they’ll go bow against rifle; every other mini contest has the same set-up for both man). 

**Their favorite place to be together:** The couch, in front of the TV if not down on the range. It feels just that little bit more secure than a bed, and has the added bonus of Dog Cops on demand. 

**Any traditions:** ~~Birthday sex~~ They have dinner with Steve and Natasha at least once a month; also, if one of them lands themselves in S.H.I.E.L.D Medical, it’s the other guy’s duty to bust him out. And, of course, Dog Cops Night, during which they catch up on however many episodes they’ve missed. 

**Their “song”:** Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Dancing in the Dark’. It’s a song they both connect to, but it’s not so depressing that Clint can’t try a few dance moves while Bucky laughs at him. 

**What they do for each other on holidays:** Record Dog Cops. Dog Cops Night depends on it. And, as holidays are usually actually recovery periods, they try to make sure nobody tears out their stitching. 

**Where did they go for their honeymoon:** Unmarried, so no honeymoon, and neither of them have the desire to travel - it’s part of their job, after all (and chances are someone will recognise them from this mission or that mission. Many places in Europe are no-go zones). 

**Where did they first meet:** In a S.H.I.E.L.D holding cell. Clint had been sent to retrieve Steve (who was adamant he be allowed to keep Bucky company until he was cleared) for Fury, and Steve had asked him to take his place; when Bucky had woken up, Clint had said “Nice bed hair, Barnes,” and thrown paper aeroplane number seventeen into formation at the other end of the cell (a giant ‘H’). 

**Any pets:** Lucky, when Kate has dog-unfriendly things to do. Bucky cares about him more than he lets on, and secretly disapproves of the whole pizza gig. 

**What do they fight over:** Team missions often lead to arguments, especially when one of them has attempted something “utterly stupid”, and sometimes a bad day at the office coincides with a bad night’s sleep and tiny things become major issues that they both regret the morning after (very rarely, Natasha has to knock their heads together and remind them to not be idiots). 

**Do they go on vacations, if so where:** They were once ~~dragged~~ invited to Asgard, which they both thoroughly enjoyed. Apparently. Otherwise, as already mentioned, out-of-state travelling can be a risky business, and the job is plenty scenic itself.

***

_High School AU. Love the High School AU._

On Clint’s eighteenth birthday, Bucky brings him home for some birthday sexytimes while his parents are still at work - it’s the first time Clint’s ever been to Bucky’s, so they’re both pretty excited. Bucky runs ahead to make sure his room is as he wanted it to be, with Clint’s present and card in view, sexy stuff hidden but reachable when the time comes, and no dirty laundry stinking the place out (he can deal with his suspicious mom later). Satisfied, he goes downstairs again only to find Clint isn’t where he left him; slightly panicked, he runs into the living room to find Becca grilling his boyfriend in a painfully thorough session of Twenty Questions, and she won’t leave them alone until she’s asked all twenty. 

Later, after Clint has to go, Bucky’s ready to argue with her about it, but before he can get a word in edgeways Becca tells him Clint is perfect for him, and she’s very happy they’re dating one another. Giving him a hug, she even says she’ll put up with the fondueing (a phrase she picked up from a young Steve some years ago), then goes to bed before Bucky can formulate words. Clint, when he receives the approval message, breathes a sigh of relief and confesses he’d never thought to be worried about meeting his boyfriend’s sister. Both of them agree, though, that it went far better than when Bucky inadvertently met Barney, a mildly traumatic experience Clint is still reminded of daily by boyfriend and brother. 

_(No, I am not referring to chapter 21 here. Sorry!)_

***

Bucky Barnes snuggles. 

He will deny it from the offset, but Bucky Barnes is a snuggler. Clint knows from experience. (Hell, so does his dog!) Whether it’s on the couch or in the bed, Bucky will quite happily just plaster himself to Clint’s side and stay there until he falls asleep, Clint’s need to use the bathroom be damned. There isn’t even an overarching reason why, from what Clint can tell - Bucky just likes to snuggle. Clint would protest, especially if he wants coffee, he’s not in the comfiest position himself, or Bucky’s buried his nose in a fairly ticklish spot, but why would he when a) he sort of likes the closeness, b) he doesn’t want to disrupt Bucky’s little moment, and c) it’s kind of cute seeing the world’s deadliest assassin _snuggle_. He just wishes the others would believe him when he blurts it out one evening. 

(Lucky is the Clint-substitute, and has no problem being encouraged to sprawl out over the couch for hugs and strokes and sometimes nice little scratches along his neck or behind his ear. Of course, it’s a secret kept between just them - so Clint’s feelings aren’t hurt, of course - and in return for acting as a breathing stuffed toy behind his master’s back, Bucky doesn’t stop Clint from feeding Lucky that most marvellous of foods: _pizza_.)

***

_Small Winterhawk Things_

Like Clint waking up with a huge red stripe down his face from where he’d been sleeping against Bucky’s shoulder, half-on half-off the metal plate. 

Bucky swapping the sugar for salt before Clint makes his morning coffee (and getting JARVIS to take a photo of the resulting Death Glare). 

Falling asleep on the couch for the whole night - because they both know the value of uninterrupted sleep, and as trained snipers, discomfort isn’t a bother. 

Clint getting bored during debrief and sexting Bucky - who is already in the room. 

Bucky training Lucky to bring Clint an arrow every time someone says “arrow” and not telling Clint how the dog even knows where the quiver is, let alone how he can reach the top of the wardrobe to get it (Lucky doesn’t; Bucky hides arrows under the dog bed for this exact purpose). 

Both of them arguing over the best Dog Cops character. Every episode. (Natasha now turns off her phone whenever the show airs.) 

Y'know. Small things.

***

Maybe Clint’s one of those people who likes to talk during TV shows or films - y'know, a comment about a character’s behaviours here or a snide remark about the implausibility of such-and-such happening there, and he’s often being shushed by the others (Steve Rogers, if you’ll remember, did not appreciate people talking over the pre-movie news reel back in the day). So he learns to zip it, and keep his hilarious witticisms to himself. The others are just going to have to miss out. 

Except he notices, on a few occasions, that Bucky has similar reactions in similar moments. He’ll scoff at ridiculous lines, roll his eyes when something ridiculously absurd happens, and the way he complains about parts he didn’t like afterwards delights Clint because he, too, wanted to say all that. And it’s one more reason he and Bucky are together, right? Only it gets better. 

During one movie night, with an action film on the go, Clint literally feels Bucky sighing in his lap. He looks down, and Bucky looks back up at him, expression saying ‘Seriously?’ And Clint, feeling the same way, grins back and goes to say what he’s thinking - except he knows he can’t, because it’ll annoy the others. But he has to get this off his chest (because how else are he and Bucky going to appreciate the bad bits?), and so he resorts to doing the next best thing: he signs, right above Bucky’s face. 

And Bucky signs back. 

They develop the habit throughout every subsequent TV episode and/or film the team watches together. They can have a whole conversation about the stupidity of Character A’s dialogue, or the probability of the car rolling that many times, or why a different weapon would be better used in a particular scenario - and all anyone else knows about it is that, occasionally, one or both of them will laugh or groan or snort, but as long as they’re not talking over what’s showing, nobody really minds. 

In other words: Clint and Bucky hold ASL conversations with each other through the bad films they aren’t 'allowed’ to talk over.


	2. It Wasn't Only A Kiss

It happened suddenly, without warning - the credits for ‘Dog Cops’ had just started to roll when Bucky turned to Clint and kissed him. Pulling back, he grinned as Clint blinked at him - confused, but hardly going to protest; not that Bucky gave him a chance. Before any processing could be done he was on him again, hands either side of Clint’s neck as he repeatedly pressed kiss after kiss into the other’s lips, sloppy and careless and through a barely-controlled smile. All Clint could do (all he wanted to do) was go along with it, even when he found himself sliding backwards until he was stretched out along the couch, Bucky’s weight keeping him comfortably in place. 

With a change in position came a change in pace, though - kisses that had started out messy and rushed gradually became slower, less-heated, and slightly deeper. There was almost a reverence to the way Bucky kept their lips together, as if he was savouring the feeling, trying to make it last. Gone was the playful smirk he’d worn minutes ago, now inappropriate for what was such a tender moment, and as he snaked his arm around the back of Bucky’s neck Clint wondered what had brought all of this on. It happened from time to time, but it was only now that he was beginning to question why. 

How long they lay there, fitted together like figures of a Greek statue, Clint would never know; but eventually, Bucky paused, resting their foreheads together, eyes closed. He appeared peaceful - but Clint felt the faint tightening of his eyebrows and the small crease that developed between them. Before Bucky asked in a hoarse whisper, “Why me?”, he already had his answer. 

"Because you deserve it. And I don’t want anyone else."


	3. My Heart Is A Hollow Place

"Bucky," Clint gasped, trying to ignore the feel of lips working their way down his jaw. "Please." 

Bucky stilled. If he hadn’t been lying above him, Clint wouldn’t have known he was there. Slowly, he pulled back to look him in the eye, a mixture of disappointment and resignation in his own. “Clint…” 

"You really thought sex would distract me?" he panted. "Should know me better than that." 

Nodding bitterly, Bucky slid off him, sitting on the other side of the bed. “You’re not gonna quit asking, are you?” 

Clint pushed himself up. “Not while I’ve still got you.” 

"And if you didn’t have me?" he asked over his shoulder. "If it was a stranger, someone you’d never met before, would you ask them the same thing?" 

"Do you want me to say yes to make you feel better?" Glowering, Bucky looked away, and Clint moved up against his back. "Come on, Buck," he whispered, ghosting his lips over a bare shoulder. "You know I’ve thought seriously about this. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t know I wanted it." 

He could see when the corner of Bucky’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “That’s the thing,” he mumbled. “Still don’t know why you want it.” 

"Really?" Clint reached around to cup Bucky’s jaw, turning his head until he could press their lips together. He could feel the moment Bucky softened against him, tilting his head minutely to get a better angle even though there wasn’t much heat to the kiss. Keeping it going for as long as he could, Clint tried to commit it to memory: how Bucky’s lips were faintly warm and moist, his body smooth and firm - almost like marble - against Clint’s front, yet growing more pliable as the moment continued. 

He had to breathe, though. Parting, he settled for nuzzling Bucky’s cheek, feeling him sigh. “And my feelings on this don’t count?” 

Drawing back, Clint studied him carefully, his heart sinking a little at the sadness emanating from Bucky’s eyes alone. “They do, Bucky,” he said, “but all I want is to spend as much time with you as possible. You can’t tell me you don’t want that too.” 

"You’d be throwing away everything you’ve got here," Bucky snapped. 

"All I’ve got is S.H.I.E.L.D," he argued back. 

"But still, you think it’ll be easy? Leaving behind one life for another? You have a choice here, Clint, a choice I never had -" 

"And I’m choosing you. Bucky, please," he tried again, pressing even closer. "Yes, or no, that’s all I’m asking for." 

They sat staring into each others’ eyes for a long time. Clint tried to be as still as Bucky, to keep his thumping heart quiet and his eyes clear, and eventually Bucky pushed against his shoulders, pressing him gently into the mattress. Clint shuddered as warm lips traced their way up from collarbone to jaw, lingering over his pulse point; and finally, as fangs grazed the shell of his ear, Bucky whispered his answer.


	4. Breaking Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After catching Clint trying to steal from him, former soldier Bucky resolves to help him start anew outside of New York. He never expected to fall in love in the process.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Bucky said, pulling Clint’s hand out of his pocket for the umpteenth time. "You don’t have to steal from me - I want to help." 

Yanking his wrist free, Clint scowled at the pavement. “Plenty others who’ve said that before,” he muttered. 

"And how many of them felt the same way I do about you?" He stepped closer, tipping Clint’s chin up until they were eye to eye. "Look, I’m not asking you to trust me - not completely, anyway - rather that you… have a little faith." 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Faith?” he echoed. 

Nodding, Bucky leaned in for a kiss, chaste but meaningful. “You want out of the city then I can do just that; but you gotta be a little patient.” 

Sighing, Clint mustered up a small smile. Bucky grinned back, giving his shoulder a squeeze before leaving him to buy food for the trip. Hands in his pockets, Clint clutched the thin metal dog tags he’d swiped after Bucky took him in the other night, thinking maybe he didn’t need to sell them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "noir AU? Or barring that- Clint pickpocketing Bucky."


	5. Seeing Is Believing

Clint hadn’t expected to do much when he got home from an early movie night with Steve. He certainly hadn’t expected to see Bucky waiting for him behind the front door, the words _Trust me?_ on his fingers. Slightly wary, he nodded, and the next thing he knew one hand was covering his eyes while the other pushed him forwards. His noise of protest appeared to have no effect, so he let himself be guided around until the hands were removed. 

Blinking, Clint found himself in their room, a smart shirt and dark jeans laid out on the bed with a piece of paper. He turned to ask Bucky what was going on, but he’d been left alone. 

The note by the clothes simply said: ‘Please wear x’, and with little else to do Clint complied, anticipation gradually overruling the initial suspicion he’d first felt. Once showered and changed, he dared to slip out of the bedroom. 

The first thing he noticed was that Bucky had also changed, and was wearing the dark purple button shirt that Clint had bought him over smart black trousers; then he noticed the table, on which a homemade pizza was gently steaming, a candle to one side of it. He looked back to Bucky. _What’s this?_ he asked as a grin crept on to his face. 

Grinning back, Bucky stepped forward, slipping his arms around Clint’s waist as he leant in for a sweet kiss. _Wanted to surprise you._

_You made me pizza?_

Looking sheepish, Bucky shook his head. _Hill did._

_Hill?_ Clint repeated, eyebrows shooting up. 

He chuckled, nodding. _She said not to ask. Now come and eat._

The pizza was surprisingly good, and Clint realised Steve must have been in on this plan of Bucky’s for him to have timed everything so perfectly - the sun was just setting over New York as they finished, and he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the sight when Bucky tapped the back of his hand. _Can I ask you something?_

_Yes._

Bucky raised his hands again, uncertainty tugging at the corners of his eyes. _I suck at speeches,_ he signed eventually, _especially in ASL so I think -_ He stopped abruptly, saying something Clint didn’t catch before one hand disappeared under the table. He produced a small box and pushed it towards Clint. 

Heart suddenly in his throat, Clint opened it. A silver ring was inside, a simple five-pointed star etched onto the surface, and he jerked his head back up to see Bucky sign: _Will you marry me?_

He stared (for how long, he didn’t know), slowly processing what was happening; then, with shaky hands, he signed the first response that had come to him; _Shouldn’t you be on one knee?_

After a beat, Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling nonetheless as he slid out of his chair. Once in position, he asked again, _Will you marry me?_

And Clint, with probably the world’s goofiest grin on his face, said “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky proposing to Clint with sign language."
> 
> (Bucky’s ring is the same as Clint’s, only instead of a star it has a tiny arrow, and it never comes off the chain his dog tags are also on.)


	6. In With The New

"It’s too hot." 

Tipping his head sideways where he lay, Clint squinted at Bucky beside him. “Says the dude who practically spent centuries submerged -“ 

"I can still complain when it’s too hot, asshole," he grumbled in response. He gestured to the towel draped over his left arm. "You don’t have a hot plate attached to the side of your body anyway." 

"Hmm, true," Clint conceded, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of the sun on his sandy toes. God bless Tony Stark and his billionaire, private beach-owning privileges. "Hey," he said after a minute, "I know something that’ll help cool you down." 

Bucky opened one eye to stare at him warily. “What?” 

"A slushie." 

The other eye opened, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. “A what?” 

"Slushie. Stark has a machine in the beach house." Sitting up, Clint couldn’t help his jaw dropping in realisation. "You mean no-one’s introduced you to slushies yet?" 

"No, they’ve not - what’s a slushie, Clint?" Bucky asked as Clint jumped to his feet. 

"You’ll see!" he called over his shoulder. Watching him go, Bucky felt slightly apprehensive; the last modern-day item of food he’d been introduced to by Clint had been Poptarts, and once he’d put out the toaster fire and cleaned up the innards of one from between the panels of his metal arm, it hadn’t tasted too bad (rather, it had tasted as nice as he could determine with a burnt tongue). If slushies were anything as troublesome, he was adding them to the ‘Modern Foods to Avoid At All Cost’ list. 

Clint was next to him again in a few minutes, two cups of… slush, Bucky guessed, in his hands. He handed Bucky the red one, and though the cold sensation was undeniably pleasurable against his hand, Bucky was still unsure about the strange substance. “What’s it made of?” 

"Crushed ice and juice," Clint said, scooping a blob out with the oddly-shaped end of his straw. "Well, essentially, anyway. Go on, try it. It’s strawberry flavoured." 

Mimicking the action, Bucky took his first taste of strawberry slushie. “Mmh,” he decided, nodding. It didn’t taste too bad at all - nothing like real strawberries, of course, but the cold ice was greatly appreciated. 

Grinning, Clint chuckled. “Told you,” he chirped. 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky settled back onto his blanket. “Yeah, well, when I’m still scraping dried up Poptart from my metalwork, I think I’m allowed to be cautious. Ah!” He jerked as a small mound of blue crushed ice landed heavily on his bare stomach, cold in the unpleasant way that comes with unexpected changes in temperature, and turned to glare at Clint. 

Clint just smirked. “Oops,” he said, a wicked glint in his eye as he leaned forward. 

Bucky huffed, knowing it would be pointless to try and stop him. “Thought these were supposed to cool me down?” he muttered. Clint couldn’t reply, his tongue being otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "summer heat and an introduction for bucky to slushies (or some kind of popsicle he didn't have way back when)"


	7. Go Your Own Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Loving you isn't the right thing to do_   
> _How can I ever change things that I feel..._

"Why’re you still here?" Bucky slurred, head lolling on his pillow as Clint brought in a glass of water. 

“‘Cause you’re drunk, Bucky,” he said simply. “Drunk enough for things to go badly if no-one’s around to make sure they don’t.” 

"Didn’t ask f’r it," Bucky grunted. 

"Knew you wouldn’t." 

"Right. ‘Cause you love me." Clint froze, and Bucky waved his hand around above his head. “‘S alright, Tasha told me. Or was it Stark?" 

It would be Stark - Natasha had sworn to keep that knowledge secret, even if she disapproved. Regaining his composure, Clint cleared his throat, moving to leave Bucky to much-needed sleep. “Water’s on the side. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” 

"You shouldn’t, y’know." 

Stopping mid-step, he turned back. “Shouldn’t what?” Bucky moved his head away, and Clint found himself going to the side of his bed again. “Bucky - I shouldn’t what?” 

Startlingly clear eyes met his, and Bucky’s next words held no trace of slurring in them. “Love me.” 

Clint couldn’t help it - he frowned. Crouching down so that they were eye-level, he softly asked, “Why not?” 

"Because," Bucky began, rolling slowly into a seated position on the edge of the mattress, "you’ve got a normal body, mad bow skills, awesome apartment block, and, and a dog… that likes pizza." He looked up, the corners of his mouth pulled down in sorrow. "Why would you want someone like me to come in and ruin all that?" 

As the silence came down thick and heavy between them, Clint played the last sentence back again and read between the lines. Swallowing, he reached out and laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Because someone like you would fit right in to my car-crash of a life,” he said, smiling gently. “The real question is, why won’t you let me bring you into it?” 

Shrugging, Bucky hung his head, attention on his hands, loosely lying in his lap. “Guess I’ve gotten used to being alone these days,” he mumbled. 

That wasn’t just it, but it was the most that was being admitted to at this moment in time. Moving his hand to the side of Bucky’s neck, Clint leant up to kiss him, mildly shocked at how strong the taste of whiskey was on his lips. When they parted, he pressed their foreheads together, and whispered: “You don’t have to be anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk, Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac"


	8. The Power of Breakfast

It was the smell that woke him up. Coaxing him from slumber, through dazed half-awareness and finally into bleary-eyed basic functioning, the sweet scent of food curled up into Clint’s nose and teamed up with Curiosity to get him out of bed. He noticed belatedly that Bucky was nowhere to be seen, and as he fumbled with the cords on his sweatpants he finally thought to put two and two together. Forgoing a t-shirt (at the behest of his rumbling stomach), Clint went to investigate. 

Lucky didn’t come to greet him like he normally did when Clint made an appearance in the morning. Instead, he was already positioned by the stove, eye fixed resolutely on a boxer-clad Bucky, who in turn was focused on whatever was in the pan in front of him. As Clint shuffled towards the kitchen area, he looked up and grinned. “Morning, hawkass.” 

"Mornin’, granddad," Clint grunted in response. Scratching Lucky behind the ears (the gesture was lost on the food-obsessed mutt) he tried to get a peek at what Bucky was frying, but instead found himself being steered towards the table. 

"Sit first," Bucky instructed, pushing him into a chair even as Clint complained about being manhandled. "You can start helping yourself - gimme a sec to plate up." 

That was when Clint saw what was on the table. It looked like something you’d expect to see in a high-star hotel: various fruits, separate plates of sausage and bacon, toast, assorted toppings for said toast, a pile of fried eggs, a bowl of beans, even tater tots - and Bucky had still been cooking when Clint walked in. “What’s all this for?” he asked, blinking as a plate of fresh pancakes was placed in front of him from behind. 

"Thought I’d make you breakfast." Bucky rested his forearms on Clint’s shoulders, leaning down to press the sides of their faces together. "Happy anniversary," he murmured. 

Clint moved slightly to look at him. “Really?” 

Smiling, he nodded. “One year today.” When Clint didn’t say anything he laughed and went for a kiss. “Now come on - I didn’t slave away over all of this for you to let it go cold.” 

As Bucky took his own seat at the table, Clint grinned at him lewdly. “You know, I suck at cooking too much to be able to pay you back in kind.” 

Slipping Lucky a strip of bacon (and that dog looked far too happy at that - probably thought his adamant staring had paid off rather than Bucky having a weakness for small, hungry beings), Bucky snorted. “Damn right.” 

"I can suck at something else instead, if you know what I mean." 

He raised his eyebrows. “After breakfast?” 

Clint winked. “After breakfast.” 

After breakfast, Clint couldn’t move an inch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky making Clint breakfast on their anniversary."


	9. Your Mornings Are My Mornings

Their mornings normally play out something like this: 

Bucky wakes up first. He has no qualms about letting Clint know that he is up - sometimes does it on purpose - but there's little he can say that makes Clint actually get his ass moving too. So while Bucky showers, shaves, and sorts out his hair into something the ladies would love (it's a personal challenge of his to style it in a way that makes Darcy stare, clearly imagining what it would be like to run her hands through it; the longer she stares, the more points for him), Clint stays drooling into his pillow until something forces him out - hunger, a pillow too wet to comfortably sleep on, Lucky's nose in his face, or Bucky slipping very far under the covers to give him an excuse to shower besides "You smell like a bed". 

Infrequently, their mornings go like this: 

Clint wakes up naturally to an empty, made-up bed. Everything's quiet. Lucky is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Bucky. Scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Clint gets out of bed, puts on pants and leaves the bedroom. Lucky will come to him then, padding silently, tail wagging not as hard as it has been known to, and Clint scratches him absently behind the ear because his focus is on the couch - on Bucky on the couch. On Bucky, who is hunched over in pyjama pants and Clint's purple sweater, eyes open and unseeing, hair mussed and dishevelled. And Clint takes Lucky's lead, silently going over and settling himself next to Bucky and waiting until he's sought out. It could be a hand slipping into his, a subtle shift that presses them both together from shoulder to elbow to hip to knee to ankle, or a face burying itself in the crook of his neck as hands clutch too tightly at his sides. Either way, it's just a case of waiting until Bucky shakes off whatever is haunting him (and sometimes he asks - jokingly, utterly serious - "How do you do it? How come it isn't you who ends up like this?") and then the pancakes are brought out. 

Whatever happens, they have their routine - not routines, because that implies their mornings are separate events - and both of them like it just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [pariahsdream](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/), who drew a wonderful [Brokeback Winterhawk](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/87497238577/dreamingangelwolf-requested-some-winterhawk-hugs) in response to my sleep-addled plea and the [great little piece](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/53167576491/30-day-otp-list-holding-hands-cuddling) that inspired this.


	10. As Real as Fear and Death

"Hey," Bucky gasps, letting his head fall back to hit the wall. Clint still has his between his hands, panting into the ground, and Bucky reaches out to grasp his shoulder. "Come on, we gotta go -" 

"That was Bobbi!" Clint shouts, slapping his hand away. In the gloom, Bucky can just make out the shining of unshed tears. "That was Bobbi, and you just - she - we could’ve -" 

"Done what?" He doesn’t snap, just states the truth: "That wasn’t Bobbi, Clint, anymore than it was Wu or Quartermain. I was doing her a kindness." 

Clint looks like he wants to disagree, but Bucky waits until his anger dissipates in a harsh “Fuck…”, his gaze directed back to the ground. As much as he wants to let Clint grieve for their friend (as much as he wants to do so himself), he needs to get them moving. 

"Steve said they were going to New York," he says, hauling Clint up from behind the broken wall. "If we’re quick, we could probably still find them." 

After a beat, Clint shrugs. “There any point?” he asks dully. “What if they’ve all been… turned as well?” 

Though entertaining the thought is hardly pleasant, he can’t deny it hasn’t already crossed his mind. Bucky steps into Clint’s space, resting his hand at the base of his neck and his forehead against Clint’s temple. “Then you might have to take out Steve for me,” he murmurs. 

Clint nods. “What about Natasha?” 

"Maybe we could flip a coin." It’s not funny, not really, but Clint chuckles hollowly anyway and angles his head so they can share a brief kiss. "Come on. We need to go." One glance is spared for Bobbi, now truly at peace, and then they’re off into the night, with no idea what awaits them or even if they’ll make it themselves. 

It’s a dead world, a living nightmare, and not even Bucky’s worst dreams have spited him like this. Oh, sure, he’s been plagued with the idea of his victims coming back to life, shambling towards him with gushing wounds and rotting flesh, expressions of permanent horror or pain directed at him, but this he never thought possible. He doesn’t know what happened, how Washington DC ended up reduced to deserted streets that reek of death, boarded-up homes, and corpses, dead and ‘alive’, littering the city. All he knows is that this attack was bad enough to wipe out most of S.H.I.E.L.D, to send the Avengers running, and that he needs to get Clint (at least) to safety. 

Once they’re too exhausted to run they duck into the first building that isn’t completely impenetrable - a clothes store of some sort - and tuck themselves into one of the offices at the back. They board the windows, barricade the door, and hunker down together with some coats they nabbed on their way inside. Sleeping lightly goes unspoken between them – and yet… 

_Bucky is running, because the other option is to not run, and that means he’ll be killed unless he kills first and for some reason he can’t let either happen – no killing, just running. If he focuses on running, he doesn’t have to worry about what’s chasing him. Which is what, exactly? Oh, right, of course – it’s that thing that looks like Clint, that thing that was Clint, and the minute his eyes settle on it over his shoulder he stops running, feels his feet turn to lead at the ends of his legs; and part of him has time to wonder: how? Clint isn’t Wu, or Quartermain, but then neither was Bobbi, and before he can think any more he has to defend himself because at some point he fell and now the Clint-thing is coming and his instinct kicks in at the last minute. It drops on top of him, and suddenly he’s wrestling with it, knife in hand, and for a dead thing it’s strong, almost as agile as – and he’s determined, now, to do the kind thing, because Clint would want him to live, and even as it starts shouting his name, even as his vision blurs, he knows he’ll follow through on –_

“Bucky, please!” 

Bucky blinks. He blinks some more, and the road they were fighting on morphs into a wooden floor; the thing he’d pinned under him starts to look properly alive again, properly like Clint, and there’s fear in his eyes, and the knife feels very solid in his hand, and his other hand is pressed too tightly against Clint’s throat. 

He recoils immediately, backing away until he bumps into the wall and falls onto his knees. In the distance Clint is coughing, barely audible over the sound of his own blood in his ears, and he doesn’t really see when Clint drops down in front of him and pulls him in, pressing Bucky’s head against his shoulder and pressing kisses into his hair, against his ear, to his cheek; “I’m alright,” he says, low and raw, as the tears start to spill out. “I’m here, I’m alive, it’s me, we’re okay, Bucky, we’re okay…” 

“Promise me,” Bucky chokes out later, when he can breathe enough to speak and his eyes are simultaneously wet and gritty. 

“Promise you what?” 

“Don’t – don’t make me go on alone.” Clint moves, and Bucky raises his head. Hands cup his face, thumbs wiping away long-dried tear tracks, and Clint nods. 

“Promise,” he whispers. “You too?” Bucky returns the gesture, body sagging as his eyes flutter closed, and Clint leans forward to kiss him, firm, but with a tenderness that he hopes conveys just how much he intends to keep that promise. If part of his mind vaguely thinks that he wouldn’t mind kissing Bucky as his last act, another part decides that he’ll tell him only if necessary. 

Back under the coats, they hold each other as close as possible, and think not of death or what they now know comes after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to this post: "Someone should write me a feelsy Clint/Bucky or Clint/Loki since I can’t write and I need feels…. maybe a zombie au those are nice… just a thought".


	11. Sickly Sweet

"How long did Bruce and Hank say this’d last?" 

On the opposite bed, Bucky sneezed harshly, sniffing before mumbling “Five days,” his metal arm thrown across his eyes. 

Clint groaned, his stomach rolling. “Five days stuck in quarantine? Really?” He was already going stir-crazy, and they’d only been in here for… “How long’s it been already?” 

"Three hours." 

"Great." 

"Stark did tell you not to explode the globby green thing." 

"No, he said that he wouldn’t if he were me." Bucky’s laugh was interrupted by another forceful sneeze, and as he dropped his head back on his pillows with a mournful sigh, Clint turned to look at him. "Hey." 

"Hm?" 

"Least we got five days of more-or-less uninterrupted time together." 

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “We’re both gross, ill, and cranky. Five days together doesn’t sound as good in that light.” 

"Yeah, well there’s no-one I’d rather be gross, ill and cranky with." 

He opened his eyes, locking gazes with Clint across the small distance between them. Sure, they were both beaten down by some God-knows-what illness, feeling like the inside of a toilet and hardly looking any better, but there was some blessing in the fact that it was just the two of them (Bucky briefly imagined being quarantined with Stark, which suddenly made things seem a whole lot better). He and Clint hadn’t had much time alone recently, so maybe now - between puking and sneezing - they could finally catch up. So despite feeling like crap, Bucky grinned, and replied with: “You say the sweetest things, kid.” 

Clint chuckled at the sarcasm. “Shut up, gramps,” he groused; and as Bucky was taken over by another deafening bout of sneezing, he found himself reaching for the metal bowl left by his bedside. Oh yeah - five days of this was going to be swell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "have you done a fic where both of them are sick at the same time yet? Because if not… that :)"


	12. Tryapka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some sickly sweet, possibly totally OOC Winterhawk fluff. Why? There is no need for reason here. All I will say is: Bucky’s hair, fingers in Bucky’s hair, and cuddling. Also, sorry for Google’s Russian.

If there was anything Clint could trade for more of these moments, he was pretty sure he’d do it without a second thought. Sat on his trusty sofa, he grinned down at Bucky’s head in his lap, watching in delight as the deadly assassin melted under his touch - and all he was doing was running his fingers through thick brown hair, lightly massaging Bucky’s head as he did so. The result was that Bucky suddenly became almost cat-like in his appreciation of the gesture, sighing deeply in satisfaction, eyes closed, an easy smile on his lips. 

"You’re enjoying this, huh?" Clint chuckled. 

"Zatknis’, chert Pal’tsy," he mumbled, shifting over onto his other side. He snuggled closer, simultaneously nuzzling up against Clint’s stomach and leaning into his touch, smile never wavering. 

Keeping up the affection, Clint regarded him fondly, the warm press at his abdomen spreading through his chest. “What’s brought all this on?” he asked softly. 

"Reasons," Bucky sighed. 

"Such as?" 

"Love you." 

It’s as good a reason as any, Clint figures, and he moves his free arm to rest across Bucky’s waist. “Yeah, and I love you too, you big softie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google Translate:
> 
> Tryapka = Softie  
> "Zatknis’, chert Pal’tsy" = "Shut up, Devil Fingers".


	13. Gears of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk Steampunk AU - ex-circus performer Clint Barton finds himself part of the crew of _Liberty_ , a renegade airship out to make a difference in the world, whether that includes fostering Russian fugitives or stealing dangerous gems out from under a shadow government’s nose.

"You know, sometimes I think you love the engine more than you love me." 

Rubbing his eyes under his goggles, Bucky turned in time to see Clint drop down into the engine room. With a smirk, he pulled them off. “And that’s a bad thing? If I didn’t love the beating heart of our beloved ship, she wouldn’t stay in the sky, and thus there probably wouldn’t be a you to love as a result.” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Such a sweet talker. And people ask me how I ended up on this airship.” Bucky just chuckled. Stepping forward, Clint wiped his thumb over an oil streak near his hairline. “How come you never end up covered in this stuff? It’s always just a streak here, or a smudge there.” 

"Special talent," Bucky said, resting his arms round Clint’s waist. "Less is more, they say." 

"More what?" He shrugged. Snorting, Clint shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.” 

"But you wouldn’t want me any other way." 

"Well, maybe a little cleaner." 

"Is that a not-so-subtle hint?" 

"Nope." To prove the point, he kissed Bucky right there, the purr of _Liberty_ 's engine surrounding them as they both closed their eyes. Clint found himself getting hot quickly, thanks in part to the already high temperature of the room and Bucky himself, who had managed to untuck Clint's shirt from his trousers and slipped his fingers - five flesh, five metal - beneath the material. In turn, Clint had one hand in Bucky's hair (barely bothered by the sweaty strands) and the other at the small of his back, encouraging him closer - 

"Ow - ow, fuck!" Bucky pulled away sharply, face contorting as he grasped his left shoulder. 

"What’s wrong?" Clint frowned as Bucky slid down the side of the engine, tugging one-handed at the collar of his shirt. 

"Gears are caught," he grunted, gingerly pulling the material over his head and down the motionless limb. "Get my toolbox?" 

Placing it on his right, Clint sat down beside him, watching as Bucky proceeded to unscrew a panel on his shoulder. “You sure you should be doing this unsupervised?” he couldn’t help but ask. Despite the look Bucky threw him, he continued: “I mean, what if you break something or hurt yourself further? Stark and Cap’ll bitch at you if you do.” 

Lifting the panel away exposed the neatly tangled network of thin rods and cogs that enabled the arm to function, the peak of Stark technology, rehashed from shoddy Russian engineering, and yet still failing - more frequently, if you asked Clint. “Quit worrying,” Bucky muttered, adjusting his hold on the screwdriver and sticking it inside. “I’ve done this be- ah! - before, it’s just a - case of realigning… Ow, shit!” He paused, eyes shut tight, breathing hard. 

Feeling helpless, Clint squeezed his hip lightly. “Anything I can do?” 

To his surprise, Bucky nodded. “Look inside,” he instructed. “Tell me if I’ve got the right one.” 

"How will I know?" he asked as he switched positions. 

"One’ll look out of place. Stuck in the muscle." Bucky took a deep breath. "I can’t work out which one." 

Angling his head, Clint could indeed see the troublesome piece (and fuck, those gears actually looked like they had dried blood on them), and carefully guided Bucky’s hand so he could push it back into place. There was a soft ‘click’ and Bucky groaned in relief, sagging against the metal wall. “Jesus, Buck,” Clint murmured, wiping a bead of sweat from Bucky’s forehead. “We gotta get this sorted out.” 

"I know," Bucky sighed, already fixing the covering back onto his shoulder. "Why else d’you think we’re looking for Vision?" 

"Wait, what?" Clint helped him to his feet. "I thought it was a social call? Steve kept mentioning Jim and Toro, Namor even -" 

"Stark thinks that he can make it better with Vision’s help," Bucky explained. "Steve’s using the trip as an excuse to call on the others. He thinks Falsworth won’t mind being the host." 

"Oh." Bucky pulled his shirt back on slowly, and Clint searched for indicators as to how much pain he was in. "So, I guess I’ll have to be a little more gentle in bed, huh?" 

Bucky snorted, the pain in his eyes subsiding a little. “Like hell you will! I’m not some wind-up tin soldier, Clint.” Softly, he added, “Not anymore.” 

"Of course you’re not." Already missing the cocky smirk and playful glint that were just so Bucky Barnes, Clint kissed him again, his thumb stroking the line of Bucky’s jaw, neither of them moving until it felt natural to pull apart. Their noses brushed, and Bucky smiled - not in the way that made Clint’s heart damn-near burst with love, but he still grinned back anyway. "Hey." 

"Yeah?" 

"You think Joey’ll be up for a rematch?" 

"I think Falsworth’ll kill you both if you touch his precious Ford again." Clint laughed, and Bucky smacked his shoulder, managing not to wince at his own muscle’s protests. "Come on, I want that shower now." 

Clint scooped up the goggles, tossing them over so Bucky could drop them in his toolbox. “Alright. But it Natasha’s used up all the hot water again, you’re on your own.” 

"How do you know I want to share?" 

"Because you love me, and as I implied earlier, you’ve spent far too much time with noisy engines than -" 

"My equally noisy bed warmer?" 

"Hey - I object to that. I’m not a ‘bed warmer’."


	14. The Blunt Knife

Trauma is such a blunt word for something that rips through you as well as any knife. Perhaps it’s because, on the outside, you look like you’ve been beaten down repeatedly, with shadowed eyes, hunched shoulders, and that protective curve to your body that screams vulnerability. Really, it’s inside where the worst damage is done, when trauma’s ragged edge leaves you torn up into uneven shards that grate against each other like tectonic plates beneath your skin, moving around and changing you as time rattles on by. James Barnes is a perfect example of this – seventy years’ worth of beatings bestow a defensive stance on him, fatigue dragging his limbs down and bruising the skin around his eyes; that’s what everyone sees. They don’t see the pieces he’s been ripped into. Bucky. Winter Soldier. James. Friend. War hero. Killer. Clint does, and not just because he’s there when the pieces clash together. 

By contrast, Clint Barton does not, in fact, show all the blunt signs of trauma. It’s easy to blame darkened eyes on jet lag and insomnia. He stands tall, smirks and grins with teeth, laughs too loudly at Stark’s expense. Then at night, when the curved sceptre sinks into his chest, that’s when he stands on the precipices of who he is, feels it yank and cut at his memories until he’s split into child, criminal, hero and traitor – and oh, how sharp that last one is, like ice broken from a glacier (an eternal winter), chilling him to his very core night after night. Just because he doesn’t look beaten doesn’t mean it never happens. There’s always only one person as witness. 

“Deep breaths, Clint. You’re alright.” 

If he could think clearly, Clint would probably laugh at the irony of this situation, at how the most notoriously traumatised member of S.H.I.E.L.D. is currently on one knee in front of him, a hand (warm) on his shoulder, trying to help him through his own issues. Part of him knows Barnes only does it out of obligatory reciprocation – Clint helps him glue himself back together, he helps Clint melt the ice – but another insignificant fragment tells him it’s out of concern. Because James cares. Because he’s the one there when the jagged plates cause earthquakes. Because he alone knows how to deal with Clint when he’s pressed up against a wardrobe on the floor, shaking and unseeing, teetering on the edge of wakefulness and sleep. 

“It’s just you and me. We’re safe, I promise.” James uses soft touches, warm touches. Brings him back slowly and gently. Keeps the metal arm away if necessary. Waits until Clint’s eyes close and his head tips back before leaning in to kiss his forehead, whispering platitudes into his hair as his arms curl around James’ waist, head pressed against his chest. They don’t move until Clint’s shaking has reduced to a trembling, and he has the energy to stand on his own two feet and seek out coffee and bad TV. 

“You’ve been unmade, right?” he asks in low tones. 

“Yeah.” 

“How do you remake yourself?” 

“I don’t.” James smiles. “You do.” 

The agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. may worry for James Barnes’ sanity, but Clint Barton does not; and if just one agent worries about his sanity, he figures that’s all he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Clint knows what it's like to be unmade too; but with the Winter Soldier in the mix, people tend to focus on his mental state. So what if Clint is the one teetering on the edge (of no return, a flashback, a panic attack, ANYTHING)?"


	15. You Will Be Surprised

Making out was always enjoyable. Making out with Clint, well. Bucky should’ve known what he was in for when Clint began running his mouth earlier. The guy was an expert, leaving Bucky torn between wanting to move things along and wanting to keep at it for as long as he was conscious. The idea of Clint putting his mouth elsewhere was a strong deciding factor, and Bucky became very eager to submit. 

To his surprise, though, when Clint manoeuvred them into a more ‘progressive’ position, it was with himself beneath Bucky, who hesitated in his confusion. Clint noticed; he broke off the kiss to frown up at him. “What?” 

"Uh, nothing, it’s just…" He swallowed. "I thought you said you were a Dom?" 

Clint levelled him with a steady gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips distractingly. “I am,” he said. “Now, once you’ve processed that little piece of information, you’re going to get rid of all your clothes so I can get a proper look at that gorgeous body of yours. Then after that, I’m gonna take my time getting you ready, and when I think you’ve been patient enough I’ll prove to you why I’m the best Dom you’re ever gonna have.” Stunned, all Bucky could do was stare, even as something flickered over Clint’s face and he shifted where he lay. “Gonna call me a freak?” he asked, voice emotionless. 

Jaw slack, Bucky’s brain-to-mouth filter dissolved. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck you want me to.” 

A wide smirk settled over Clint’s face. “We’ll get to that later. Clothes. Off.” Dizzy at the prospect of topping for the first time, Bucky was only too happy to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can I have one really, really dominant bottom Clint? maybe in a DS-verse, almost everyone believes that a Dom should always top, and someone he slept with before even called him a freak. But of course Bucky finds it hot as hell."
> 
> I don't do smut, so I did almost-smut instead... ;-)


	16. Run

Clint lay in the garden, the old dog tags wrapped around his fingers, the sun turning them into soft-edged silhouettes dangling before his eyes. He knew the details on them off by heart, much to his friends’ disapproval. Not like they could stop him, though. They’d tried once and failed – let them try again. 

“I’m good at running,” he said. “Goodbyes… not so much.” He chuckled humourlessly. “Not that I’d expect you to say anything back, but, yeah.” Thinking his words might be misinterpreted, Clint swallowed. “I’m not running away. Not now.” Not yet. “I just – I thought you should know.” He sighed, dropping his hand to his chest and closing his eyes. “Funny, to think I ran here to escape my problems. Should know by now I only end up incurring more wherever I go.” 

Not that he thought Bucky was a problem. Far from it, in fact, but convincing everyone else was too much effort and only seemed to be backfiring. The sound of the tags scraping together as he rubbed them was soothing. “I’ve made a lot of fuck-ups in my life,” he murmured, and shook his head. “You ain’t one of ‘em, Bucky.” 

He opened his eyes. He looked left, then right. He sat up, and looked over every inch of the garden, to every window of the house, the doorway to the porch, even up at the branches of the trees. Finally, he looked back at the dog tags in his hand – warm, light, bright, strong, everything he associated with Bucky – and let himself curl around them, trying his hardest not to cry. 

Sat not too far on his left, Bucky didn’t bother wiping his own tear away, waiting for it to fall to the grass. Maybe, just maybe, Clint would be able to see that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lyric fic prompt to: "You've been the only thing that's right in all I've done" from 'Run' by Snow Patrol, with a haunted house theme.


	17. The Best Laid Plans...

"Natasha, I got him." 

"You’re supposed to be -" 

"I got him!" 

Natasha sets her lips in a thin line of disapproval. It’s very reminiscent of Steve, and if Bucky wasn’t already preoccupied he’d have felt quite disconcerted. “Fine,” she says, fond exasperation colouring the word. “But don’t expect me to defend you if Hand decides to tear you a new one.” 

"She’s got no reason to, it was pointless me being there," Bucky replies distractedly. He takes the bloody wad of newspaper she extends to him, pressing it to the red stain on Clint’s abdomen as she leaves quickly, gunfire echoing in her wake. The pressure rouses Clint, and he grimaces at the pain. "Hey," Bucky says, "it’s okay - you’re okay, I’ve got you." 

Clint squints at him, gasping out: “You shouldn’t be here.” 

"Yeah, well things were getting boring on the roof." S.H.I.E.L.D, he’s beginning to think, were just keeping him out of the way of the rest of the team. 

"Oh… How -" He swallows, breathing sharply through his nose. "How bad is it?" 

"Standard bullet wound. Through and through. A scratch by our standards, right?" 

"Fucking painful scratch." 

Bucky’s about to respond when a sound makes him go still. Drawing his pistol, he levels it at the end of the alley, ready to take out the HYDRA-Bot that stumbles into view with three, well-placed bullets. Sheltered they may be, but it’s still too close to danger for Bucky’s liking. 

From where he lies on the ground, Clint huffs. “My hero,” he mumbles half-jokingly. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” Switching the sodden newspaper to his left hand, he readjusts their positions, resting Clint’s head in his lap and sitting side-on to the alley’s mouth, pistol still in hand. “Evac’ll be here soon,” he says, and feels Clint nod against his legs. “Clint?” 

"Hm?" 

"Talk to me." 

“‘bout what?” 

"Anything. Come on, you know the drill." 

There’s a heart-stopping pause, then Clint sighs. “Was gonna take you to dinner tonight.” 

Bucky blinks, almost taking his gaze off the street. “You were?” 

"Yeah… Reserved it and everythin’. Have to… give it to Kate now." 

"Why Kate?" 

"She got mad last time…" Clint frowns. "Mad Kate is bad." 

He chuckles. “I’ll ring her later. Where were you gonna take me?” Clint doesn’t answer right away; Bucky gives him a little shake. “Clint!” 

"Eleven Madison Park." 

This time, Bucky does turn to stare down at him. “Madison Park?” he repeats, and Clint nods heavily. “Clint, that’s…” 

"Special," he mumbles. "Celebrate…" 

As the all-clear sounds out over comms, Bucky leans down and gently kisses him on the lips. “We’ll take a rain-check,” he says, dropping the gun in favour of carding his fingers through Clint’s dirty hair, “give you time to scrub up. You’ll appreciate the food more then, too.” 

"Why?" 

He grins. “You always complain about hospital food.” 

It takes few seconds for that to sink in, but once it does, Clint groans and presses his face into Bucky’s stomach. Bucky makes sure he stays breathing until the medical team shows up, but even when they do it’s hard to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I was wondering if you could write a Bucky/Clint one where Clint gets hurt during a mission and Bucky is super worried and protective of him, abandoning his post and everything?"


	18. Not With Haste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This needed writing for reasons of great importance. So important I’m obliged to tell you they don’t actually exist. Yeah.

“Move in with me.” 

Turning his head on the pillow, Bucky blinks sleepily at Clint, his brain taking a while to process what was said. “Hm?” 

“Move in with me.” 

“… Uh, now?” 

Clint shrugs one shoulder. “Not now, necessarily, but… soon?” 

Wondering if he’s asleep still, Bucky digs his fingers into his eyes and tries to focus. “What makes you ask?” 

“I just…” Clint smiles, a little goofily. “I love it when you’re around. When you’re not here it’s really – it’s too quiet, like I’ve gone back to living without my aids in. I love going to sleep and waking up next to you. Doing that on my own is lonely now, and I sleep better when you’re here. I think we both do.” 

“I disagree. I think we get very little sleep.” 

“Well, maybe we could switch to morning sex instead.” 

Bucky falters. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he says softly. 

“Oh…” 

After a few heartbeats, he musters up a smile. “I like waking up next to you too. Forcefully or naturally,” he mumbles, and Clint’s face lights up. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a maybe. Give me a couple of days to think on it?” 

It isn’t the answer Clint wanted, but it’s not a direct ‘no’ either, so there’s still hope. He nods, knowing that when Bucky says ‘a couple of days’ he means exactly that. “Of course.” Leaning over, he kisses Bucky’s forehead, hardly surprised when a hand grasps the back of his neck and pulls him down for a proper kiss, still a little sleep-toned and loose. “Ew. Morning breath,” he teases, and Bucky mock scowls at him. 

“If you want morning sex you have to put up with morning breath.” 

Maybe there were flaws to this plan. 

***

Bucky heaves the last box onto the landing, groaning in relief as soon as it’s out of his hands. “Why does this building have so many stairs?” he moans to Clint. 

“Exercise? I dunno.” Lucky trots out after him, tail wagging, tongue lolling, all friendly snuffles and nose-butting, and Bucky squats down to stroke him. 

“You okay having me for a roommate, pal? I know you’re top dog around here, but your goof of a human loves me too much to ask anyone else’s permission.” 

“I didn’t need his permission,” Clint scoffs. “I told him you were coming and distracted him with pizza. Now he associates you with good things.” 

“That’s your logic?” Bucky laughs as he stands. 

“Hasn’t failed me. Much,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Don’t I know it.” Exasperated as he sounds, Bucky also looks incredibly fond, and Clint is powerless to stop the little grin appearing on his face. “Come on. Let’s get this inside, then we can procrastinate until the actual unpacking.” Procrastination that starts out as making out on Clint’s awesome couch (as if they’ve never done so before) and ends up with the two of them in bed, considerably more naked. Needless to say, it takes a long time for Bucky to officially move in, but when it’s done, they both wonder why they never did it sooner.


	19. Smeyu Vas

“This is stupid.” 

Clint rolls his eyes, reaching up to slip another one of the tiny bots under a stack of boxes. “It’s not stupid. It’s a dare.” 

“That makes it more stupid.” 

“Then why are you doing it?” He turns to meet Bucky’s gaze across the room. 

Floundering for an answer, he eventually sighs and throws his arms in the air. “Stark is a manipulative sonofabitch and you’d probably do yourself an injury if it were just you.” 

“Hey!” Bucky sends him a flat look, so he sticks his tongue out in response. Checking one last time that the dwarf-bot thing is well and truly hidden, he says, “Think we’re done here. Let’s get back. I’m still waiting to dare Steve to wear nothing but the American flag in briefing tomorrow.” 

Bucky snorts. “How long did it take for you to come up with that?” 

“Too long, actually.” He’s about to close the bots’ case when the lights come on. They both look round, panicked, and see Fitz tapping in the code to the lab. 

As the door opens, Bucky grabs Clint’s shoulder and hisses: “Remember - you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.” 

“What are you two doing down here?” 

Bucky spins around at the sound of Fitz’s voice, and Clint mimics him a second later. Neither of them speak, and Fitz eyes the case on the table behind them. 

“Why is that there?” 

“Proshu proshcheniya?” 

Fitz does a double take. “Uh, I - what?” 

“Ya ne ponimayu, chto vy govorite.” 

“… Sorry, I don’t - uh, I don’t speak… Russian?” 

“Da, ya russkiy.” 

Fitz just nods. “Okay…” 

Clint taps Bucky’s shoulder. _I have a question._

“Oh, and you can’t hear what I’m -” 

_What?_

“Wait, you’re Russian, how do you know -” 

_How are we going to make him let us go if we can’t communicate with him?_

“You know what, this isn’t actually my - stay right here, okay? I’m going to get Coulson… Uh, pony-might?” 

"Der’mo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "how about “Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”"  
> Translations, as hesitantly provided by Google Translate:
> 
> Smeyu Vas = I dare you  
> “Proshu proshcheniya?” = "I beg you pardon?"  
> “Ya ne ponimayu, chto vy govorite.” = "I don't understand what you're saying."  
> “Da, ya russkiy.” = "Yes, I'm Russian."  
> "Der'mo." = "Shit."
> 
> ("pony-might" = Fitz’s attempt at Russian - ‘[vy] ponimayete’.)


	20. Circus Bears

"Trust me," Clint says, pulling Bucky past various other circus games he’s already vaguely familiar with - hoop throwing, can-toppling, plate smashing - right up to a stand with small air rifles and pop-up targets, cartoon mockeries of… Nazi soldiers? 

"Why this one?" he asks warily. A part of him is keen to have a go at this one - he dreamt of Nazis and Russians last night, and his head still throbs from the mixture of pre- and post-fall memories. Still, he’d have thought Clint would choose a less violent outlet for his frustrations. 

Tossing over a few coins to the carnie, Clint picks up his rifle and smirks. “It has the best prizes,” he says, and begins popping Nazi-toons with ease. “Bet I get a higher score than you.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes as he takes up his own position, a perfectly justified reaction. “You’re so childish,” he mutters. 

He doesn’t try too hard; it might just be a game, and the targets might be grossly cartoonish versions of an enemy he once faced, but the worry of flashing back in the middle of the circus grounds is very present, and the last thing he wants to happen (for everyone’s sake, but especially Clint’s). The sound of Clint whooping next to him makes him smile though, and when he finishes a short while later Clint obviously has something behind his back. 

"What have you got?" he asks with only mild trepidation. His head doesn’t hurt as much as it did before they started playing, but if what Clint’s won is neon coloured in any way he might have to wrap it up in his jumper (he hopes it won’t come to that - this jumper’s very comfortable, and he’d feel anxious in just a long-sleeved top). 

Unable, it seems, to contain his grin, Clint reveals his winnings. “Saw one hanging up near the back,” he explains as Bucky’s jaw drops. His grin turns into something a little more shy, and he briefly lifts one shoulder. “Thought you might like him…” 

Bucky recognises the bear immediately, despite having never actually worn the outfit himself; but Bucky Bears, as Sam explained to him, are based on the comic version of himself, and the blue and red does make them stand out more than just a blue jacket might. He takes Clint’s offering, smiling at the toy as he thumbs the felt domino mask. “You won this for me?” he asks reverently, and looks up to see him nod. 

"Last night seemed rough. Wanted to make today better for you." Looking hopeful, he gestures to the Bucky Bear. "Like him?" 

Heart warming in his chest, Bucky nods and lightly squeezes the bear in his hands. “I do,” he says softly. “Thank you.” 

"Anytime," Clint mutters, looking bashful. "Come on, there’s loads more we can do." 

As they walk, Bucky slips their fingers together and brings the back of Clint’s hand to his lips. Bucky Bear doesn’t leave his grip for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "bucky is still sort of fuzzy, mentally. so clint offers to take bucky to the circus and wins him a cute bear".


	21. Brotherly Concern (The Best Kind)

Bucky fiddled with his mug, very conscious of the fact that Clint was not there but his brother was. The ‘legendary’ Barney Barton, whom Bucky had heard everything about from Clint at school but never, in all honesty, expected to meet. 

And yet here they were. 

It didn’t occur to Bucky that Barney also looked a little uncomfortable, eyes darting everywhere as they waited for Clint to rejoin them at the table. Neither had said anything besides a mumbled greeting when Clint had brought Bucky in, and the tension hanging over the table was cloying. Bucky was relieved when Clint sat down, hoping he’d break the silence like he did in English classes when nobody wanted to comment first on the book they (should have) read beforehand; but Clint just smiled at him and sipped his coffee, raising an eyebrow at his brother when the silence lingered. 

After another painful few minutes, Barney cleared his throat. “So you’re Clint’s… uh… You’re his… His, uh…” 

Bucky waited, breath stuck in his chest, unsure exactly what the older Barton was going to say. 

“… Love interest?” 

“Jesus, Barney!” Clint cried, slapping his palm to his forehead. 

“What?” 

“Yes,” Bucky said quickly. “Y-yeah, I’m his… boyfriend.” 

Barney nodded a few times, gaze wondering as if he’d find a conversation continuer on the cupboards. He seemed to steel himself, then looked between both of them gravely. “You’re usin’ protection, ain’tcha?” 

“Uh –” 

“Oh my god!” 

“What?” Barney asked again as Clint’s head thunked face-first onto the table. “That’s what I’m supposed to ask, ain’t it?” Hiding a grin behind his mug, Bucky dared to believe that he and Barney wouldn’t be too bothered by each other’s presence in Clint’s life for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "maybe Bucky meeting Barney?"


	22. Mine, Now Yours

He’d never thought about it before, if he was perfectly honest. Then again, it had never happened in previous relationships, so perhaps that was why – but the idea of owning a little piece of Bucky was… wonderful, really. 

It came about when Clint had to leave in the morning, having spent yet another night at Bucky’s place instead of his own (Kate and Lucky were guarding the building – it should be fine…). He was about to open the front door when Bucky said “Oh, wait,” and Clint picked up the faintest sound of metal on metal. Looking round, he saw Bucky looping the military chain he wore over his head, the dog tags clinking like a bad wind chime, then said tags were being held out in Clint’s direction. 

For a moment he stared at them dumbly. “For me?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a nod. With a rueful smile, he explained, “Back in the day, some of the boys heading out gave one of these to their sweethearts to keep back at home, sort of like a small piece of proof, or evidence, that they had someone overseas to think about. Obviously, I didn’t, but now…” He shrugged. “I know you’re not always overseas, but, yeah.” 

Clint rubbed the pad of his thumb over the information on one of the tags, already familiar with what’s printed. It had been a while since he owned tags – God only knew where his were these days – but he never really considered giving them such meaning before; and there’s a lot of meaning, if you think about it. Which he decided to do later, and so presently settled for drawing Bucky in for a kiss, deep and sweet and as full of gratitude as he can make it. “Thank you, Buck. I’ll keep ‘em safe.” 

If anyone noticed the new chain peeking out from under his uniform collar at the briefing, nobody said a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky giving Clint his dogtags?"


	23. Fire Alarms and Coffee Coupons

“You forget what season it is?” 

Trying to hide the way his teeth chattered, Clint grimaced. “Was locked out,” he explained briefly. 

The really-good-looking guy from downstairs looked at him incredulously. “You were out and about in your underwear at three in the morning?” 

“Dog needed letting out,” Clint grumbled, giving Lucky the stink-eye. Lucky just gazed happily back at him, tongue out, tail thumping. “I just wait upstairs for him to come back, ’cept this time the door… shut.” 

Good-looking rolled his eyes and shrugged out of his leather jacket. “I already have another two layers on under this,” he said before Clint could make a sound in protest. “That, and it would stain my conscience forever if you got sick on my watch.” 

“What?” 

“Old habit.” Good-looking held out his hand, a charming grin lighting up his face. “James Barnes. 107.” 

Slipping his arms into the jacket, already faintly warm thanks to its previous wearer, Clint shook James’ hand and introduced himself in return. “Clint Barton, 616. And this dim mutt is Lucky.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps chasing my pizza delivery guy up the stairs!” James crowed as he ruffled Lucky’s ears. 

“Oh my god,” Clint groaned, slapping his hand to his face. “How do you cause so much trouble?” 

“That’s what I say to my friend a lot,” James said with a grin, and the two end up deep in conversation until they reach James’ — Bucky’s — door. There they parted ways, but Clint found himself thinking of that smile long into the remaining night. 

***

Bucky wasn’t expecting a lunchtime visitor. Neither was he expecting the cute guy from floor six and his pizza/trouble-loving dog to be said visitor. Visitors. But then Clint held out Bucky’s jacket, and things made a little more sense. 

“So, I was wondering,” Clint said when their brief conversation petered out. “As a way of properly saying thanks for not letting me catch my death out there last night, how about I buy you a coffee?” 

Finding the idea of spending time with Clint appealing, Bucky readily agreed. “Oh, wait,” he said, rummaging through his jacket pockets.“I actually have some kind of Starbucks voucher —” 

“You mean this one?” He looked up to see Clint waving the Starbucks coupon, a smirk already on his face. “Yeah, I’m the one saying thanks here, so if it’s alright with you, yours is the ‘get one free’.” 

Bucky was incapable of saying no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ""It's 3 am and the fire alarm went off and I'm only in my boxers. Oh thanks for your jacket man I'm freezing my balls off. And I forgot to give this back to you. Oh hey yeah this turned into a date." Au. Winterhawk of course because CLINT WOULD TOTALLY DO IT"


	24. Blood Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on Tumblr on my phone at 3:30am, hit 'Save Draft', and promptly died inside when the whole thing got deleted (fucking good for nothing app sort your life out motherfucker grrrr). So I had to rewrite it, and I'm honestly not as happy with this version, but it's the best I could do from memory :/ also, that title sucks...

Clint’s not completely aware of what’s happening around him. His knife isn’t in his hand, someone’s pulling him along the street, it’s nighttime and it’s raining - that’s all he knows right now. Wherever he is it’s quiet save for the whispered roar of the rain, and he barely registers the sideways lurch as he’s abruptly taken to one side. Hands are on his shoulders, a voice is talking at him, but Clint just wants to know what happened to his damn knife. 

“Clint!” 

A light slap brings him back to the present. Blinking, he finds himself pinned under Bucky’s gaze and hands; he registers the sensation of moisture seeping into his clothing, knows when Bucky grips his shoulders tight, but as far as feeling goes… What did he do with his knife? 

“Clint, please, say something.” 

Bucky looks worried, eyes wide and lips parted, breaths coming a little quicker than usual. Confused, Clint ducks his head to work out what to say, and that’s when he sees it - against the gleaming dull concrete, a drop of red, the same red on his hands. As sure as he knows it’s neither his nor Bucky’s, Clint knows where his knife is. 

The world tilts, and he looks back up at Bucky, whose grip has lessened somewhat. “What have we done?” 

His eyes glazing over, Bucky doesn’t move for a few slow seconds. “He was a bad man,” he whispers. Clint steps into him, wrapping his arms around his body carefully (not on Bucky, no blood on Bucky), and holding him tight. “He was a bad man…” 

They stay like that, in the rain, until lights from the police cars paint the brickwork red and blue, the sirens dominating the water-stuffed air. By this time, they’re nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "winterhawk - partners in MURDER O.O"


	25. Don't Need a Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this awesome [AU masterpost](http://spookyhyungharem.tumblr.com/post/99959365746/au-masterpost) (as was chapter 23).

One hand buried in Tafari’s mane, Clint tilts his head and scrutinises the man sat in front of him. “You don’t look like an angel.” 

Bucky laughs. “What do angels look like then, kid?” 

He thinks hard, trying to remember the one his mother used to lift him up for so he could put it on top of the tree. “They’re girls,” he says, “and they have yellow hair and gold dresses and wings.” 

Sighing, his friend nods. “I don’t have much of that, do I?” 

Clint shakes his head, moving his hand around Tafari’s mane to give the lion something to purr about; ever since Barney dared him, Clint loves to pet the big cat when the older circus people get mad at him. He knows he should probably be more careful, that Tafari could turn on him in an instant, but ever since Bucky showed up he’s been feeling a bit braver. Bucky’s the nicest adult he’s ever met. After his mom. 

“What’s the most angel-like out of all those things?” Bucky asks again, and Clint answers without hesitation. 

“Wings.” 

“So if I had wings, would you believe that I’m an angel?” 

Nodding, Clint watches as Bucky grins excitedly, standing up and moving into the centre of the animals’ tent. He stands still, flashing Clint a quick wink before closing his eyes. 

Tafari suddenly stands up, padding over to the corner of his cage and sitting down, gaze directed at Bucky. Confused, Clint notices all the animals have done that, and a double-take at Bucky reveals why: shifting to his knees, Clint stares open-mouthed at the faint smears of light extending from Bucky’s shoulders. They’re bright in the way the sun trying to burn through a foggy sky is, a distant warmth emanating from them, and he thinks if he could touch them and they’d be soft, smooth, strong… 

“You have wings,” he gasps when the lights disappear and Bucky is sitting across from him again. His face splits into a grin. “You’re an angel!” 

“Not just any angel, Clint,” Bucky says gently. “I’m yours. Your guardian angel.” 

The seven-nearly-eight-year-old doesn’t immediately process that. It’s only after he remembers his mother telling him a story while Barney was at the hospital, assuring her son that regardless of what their father did there was always an angel watching them (“I swear on my grave I’ll find a way to watch over at least one of you,”), that he realises what Bucky means. 

Bucky holds Clint until he cries himself to sleep against his chest, two arcs of gentle light encircling the child in his arms. He promised Edith out of kindness, but now he knows he’ll do anything to keep the boy from coming to harm. Anything. From behind the bars, Tafari rumbles his assent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Oh my god ay of the AUs please theyre all amazing Maybe just, winterhawk? That’d be nice"
> 
> Saw 'fallen angel AU' in the masterpost and altered it slightly... I like this idea though. May run with it again one day!


	26. How to Win at Poker

Eyeing the young brunette over the top of his hand, Clint threw in another two chips, grinning when the kid was the only one not to fold. It was the last round, and Clint had already practically wiped the floor with everyone like normal, but for once he couldn’t tell whether the guy was bluffing or not. He wasn’t - four of a kind, he was pretty fucking confident - so there had to be something else the kid wanted. 

Clint preferred adolescents when they were only visible through his sniper scope. 

The college brat matched his bet, tossing in his last few chips, and raised his eyebrows at Clint. The mercenary smirked. “You trying to flunk out of college or something kid?” 

He shrugged. “My parents’ll keep me in. And they didn’t want me spending my trust fund on alcohol, so…” 

"Trust fund," Clint snorted. "I bet you’re not even old enough to be here." 

"How much are you betting?" 

Resisting the urge to groan, he added two blacks and sat back, allowing himself to look smug. “Raise or match.” 

The kid worried at his bottom lip, eyes fixed on Clint over his cards. He’s been doing it all night, and Clint can’t deny it’s… distracting. Glancing at his hand, the boy suddenly smiles and leans forward. “I’ll match it,” he says. 

"With what?" 

"Me. For one night." 

Clint manages not to let his jaw drop. He has half a mind to refuse the bet, but then the kid does that thing with his tongue and his lips again and Clint knows there’s no chance of him refusing. So he smiles, nods to their dealer, and takes his final card. “What’s your name?” 

"Bucky. Yours?" 

"Clint." He has a flush. "Pretty high stakes you’re playing with here, Bucky. Sure you can handle it?" 

Bucky’s eyes drag blatantly over Clint’s body, hovering near the table line, a sinful grin on his lips. “Show me what you’ve got and we’ll see.” 

He lays his flush out proudly. It’s hardly a surprise when Bucky reveals he has absolutely nothing, but the eagerness in his eyes when Clint holds out a hand for his winnings suggests neither of them really lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Mercenary Clint meets college kid Bucky in a poker game while in between jobs. What starts as flirting over cards ends with Clint winning Bucky for a night (enthusiastic consent from both parties)."


	27. Smoke and Hay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for (very brief) implied abuse.

"What’ll happen if your dad finds us here?" 

Raising his cigarette, Clint snorts. “He’ll yell a lot. Might dump extra chores on me if he’s feeling generous.” He might also get his belt out once Bucky had left, but no need to bring that up. “Won’t touch you though, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” 

Bucky blows smoke directly into his face. “Fuck you.” 

"That an offer?" 

"And get hay in my ass? No thanks!" 

Clint laughs. “Not afraid of rolling around in the hay are you city boy?” 

"That," Bucky groans, "was terrible. But I’ll show you rolling in the hay, farm rat." Before Clint could reply he pulled him forward, silencing him with a kiss - and, okay, if the city kid has anything going for him besides his looks, it’s his ability to obliterate any kind of coherent thought with that mouth of his. Giving in, Clint enjoys the moment, curling a hand in Bucky’s shirt, willingly moving back to lie against the rough wood of the hay loft when encouraged. 

"What did you do to get sent here again?" he gasps when their make-out session pauses. 

"My friend set a building on fire. He’s something of a pyro. I didn’t stop him, so the cops assumed I’d done it too." Bucky looks at him quizzically. "Why? What did you think I did?" 

"I don’t know, something involving public indecency?" 

Bucky shakes his head, exasperated. “Do you ever think with anything other than your dick?” he asks, taking a drag on his nearly-dead cigarette. 

Clint smirks. “Only when people least expect it.” 

A wicked smile adorns Bucky’s face. He leans down, close enough for their lips to brush, and exhales slowly, the smoke from his last drag filling Clint’s mouth as he parts his lips in return. The heat spreads out from his lungs, and Clint knows he’s hopelessly addicted to this Brooklyn-born asshole. 

"Still not fucking you in a hay loft."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Teenage!Winterhawk where Bucky's the new city boy (or juvenile delinquent) that recently moved into town and Clint's the farmboy (also delinquent) whose family gives Bucky a job helping on their farm. (Hayloft scene would be lovely, no matter what it ends up being)"
> 
> Happy Hallowe'en, folks! :D


	28. In Madness, Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same 'verse as chapter 16: 'Run'.

"Tell me I’m mad." 

Bucky blinked. “Uh… why?” 

Unable to help himself, Clint started pacing. “It’s the only logical explanation, right? The only reason why they can’t see what I see. You’re not really there, you’re just in my head like they think you are.” 

"Clint -" 

"My mind’s finally gone and cracked and you’re the result." He stopped pacing, hands on his hips as he stared grimly Bucky’s way. "You’re my mind trying to heal itself." 

A surge of hurt passed through Bucky, followed quickly by a wave of anger. “Don’t I get a say in that?” he grit out. “‘Cause I don’t feel much like a hallucination, Clint.” 

Clint just pointed at him. “That’s what a hallucination would say!” 

"Can a hallucination do this?" Turning his focus onto the mantelpiece clock, Bucky tuned into his power, willing the ornament to shake violently until it rattled itself over the edge, thumping on the carpet hard enough to crack. He watched then as Clint bent down to pick it up, thumb running over the ruined face, the room now totally silent. 

"You should see the way they look at me." 

He spoke quietly enough that Bucky didn’t hear. “What?” 

His eyes were wet when he looked up. “The others,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Whenever I talk about you, they look at me like… like I’m talking about some deformed bird that sits on my shoulder all day and whispers God knows what into my ear.” A hand swiped at his face. “I can’t - I can’t even prove that you’re real because you don’t fucking show up on camera!” 

Suddenly very guilty, Bucky ducked his head and moved closer. “Clint, I… I had no idea.” 

"So tell me I’m mad," Clint said, continuing as if he hadn’t heard him. "Because that’s easier to swallow than having them think I’m mad and being unable to prove otherwise." 

In the year they’d known each other, there had never been a moment where Bucky wished so desperately he could touch the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "you should do more haunted house/ghost stuff OwO please? pretty please?"


	29. Leap of Faith

"How the hell do we do this?" 

"No idea." 

Bucky and Clint stared at the three-year-old boy curled up in his new bed. It looked far too big for him, but the clerk in the store had assured them it was the standard size, and they’d used all the pieces when building it - maybe he was just small, then. What if he was too small to be healthy? 

Shaking his head, Clint whispered, “Remember when we looked after Dani, and we told Jess and Luke we’d never adopt?” 

In the dark, Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think a three-year-old’s a bit easier to look after than a toddler.” 

"No gross baby food, sure. But what if we -" 

"Hey. Nope." Bucky placed a metal finger over Clint’s lips. "We’ve done all that," he reminded him. "Now Toby’s actually here and we agreed: take it all as it comes. Day by day process. Right?" 

Clint sighed. “Right, yeah, I know, it’s just…” He turned back to Toby, a tiny lump at the top of his blankets. “You know what it’s like being orphaned, Buck, but did you ever hear the horror stories?” Looking up to see Bucky shake his head, he continued, “Some kids were more miserable after leaving the home than they were in it. I don’t want him to feel like that, but… my dad wasn’t exactly -“ 

"Don’t you dare go thinking you are anything like your father Clint," Bucky growled. He pulled Clint to him, squeezing meaningfully. "Did you see the way his face lit up when he saw all these toys? How he wanted to know everything you could tell him about being in the circus? And that he went to bed when you told him to even though he wanted to stay up?" 

"I bribed him with ice cream." 

"Your dad ever bribe you with ice cream?" Clint gave him a flat look, but Bucky just kissed him sweetly. "I know we were scared after Dani, but with how well our first day together went, I can honestly see us bringing up this kid right." He smiled. "And I wouldn’t want to do it with anybody else." 

Ducking his head, Clint’s gaze slid back to Toby. He had been abundantly happy today… and Clint was aware that there would be days when it seemed like they were being shitty parents, but the simple fact that they were now actually parents was enough to make him want to do his best by their son (holy shit), so he leaned into Bucky’s hold and nodded gently. “I guess,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else either.” 

Bucky hummed happily, resting his head against Clint’s. They stood there for a moment longer, watching Toby sleep, before Clint decided they were being creepy and pulled Bucky out of the room. “Hey - you want some ice cream?” 

Eyeing him suspiciously, Bucky asked, “Why?” 

"Because I want you, and ice cream is a great bribery tool." 

Snorting, Bucky shook his head. “Like you even needed to bribe me for sex.” 

"Okay I lied. It’s the ice cream I want." 

Bucky kissed him suddenly, deep and dirty and right outside their son’s (holy. Shit!) bedroom - “So which one do you want first?” 

Of course Clint would choose both at the same time. Luckily, Toby never heard a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk adopting a kid. make it as fluffy as you want just make me not hurt anymore"


	30. Word Is...

The thirteenth time the pencil poked him between his shoulder blades, Clint gave in and twisted in his seat to glare at Tony behind him. “What?” 

"Have you kissed Barnes yet?" 

Clint balked. “Have I what?” 

"Have your luscious lips met Barnes’ yet?" 

"No!" 

"Damn," Tony hissed, then pointed a finger accusingly at him. "Why the hell not?" 

"Uh, because he’s my best friend and you generally don’t kiss your best friends?" he said, slightly incredulous that Tony would suggest something like that. Though this was Tony… 

Tony who was waving dismissively at his latest comment and saying, “Sure, best friends, bros, eternal buddies, call it what you will - but you’re only sinking deeper into denial, my friend.” 

Confused, Clint put off asking him what he meant in favour of not suffering a headache through the rest of the day. 

Meanwhile, Bucky was also in a similar predicament, only Natasha’s question was a little more ‘sympathetic’. 

"Do you think you’d ever kiss Clint?" 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

"Would you ever kiss Clint?" 

"What for?" he asked, eyes narrowed. 

She shrugged. “Wade Wilson set up a betting pool. He’s got everyone convinced the two of you are dating - which, admittedly, even I’m not sure about, and if you’ve been keeping something from me James -“ 

"Why does Wade think I’m dating Clint?" 

Natasha smirked. “His exact words were: ‘I read ahead’, which I assume means he’s looking too deeply into your interactions with one another, but you know what he’s like.” 

"Yeah…" 

"So would you?" 

He wasn’t sure; he hadn’t thought about it really, but the idea suddenly plagued him throughout the day. Clint, too, also had the same thing on his mind, and it was after school when they tentatively confronted the issue (over ice cream, like so many life-defining conversations should be). 

"Are we dating?" 

Spoon still in his mouth, Bucky shrugged. “I’d say no? But people apparently think we are.” 

"Enough to make a betting pool," Clint agreed. "You know Stark asked me if I’d kissed you?" 

He smirked. “Natasha asked if I’d considered it.” 

Clint scratched his neck, then asked hesitantly, ”Would you?” 

Despite the ice cream, Bucky’s face suddenly felt rather hot. “Maybe…” he mumbled back, and they both failed at hiding their grins in their food. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were outside the parlour, delighting in that first foray into a not-so-platonic relationship that tasted slightly of mint chocolate chip and vanilla. Somewhere in the universe, Wade Wilson basked in the warm glow of smugness and worked out who had earned what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Everyone thinks they’re dating and then they start wondering if they’re dating."


	31. The Power of the Internet

Bucky spent the entirety of the walk from his class back to his room thinking of topics for their next video. He had a few ideas so far: the latest Internet meme, the upcoming film awards, or another viewer-given challenge, but the moment he set foot inside the door they were all blown up in a cloud of colourful streamers and a loud hoot. 

"Jesus Clint!" he gasped, pressing his back against the door and his hand over his heart. "What the hell was that for?" 

Standing in the middle of their room, a bag of party poppers in one hand and a party blower in the other, Clint grinned. “We have a million subscribers!” 

Blinking, Bucky stared at him. “A million?” 

"Yeah!" 

"As in… one with six zeroes behind hit?" 

"Yes!" Clint said, reaching out and pulling him over to his laptop. "Look, it says right there. We have one million subscribers!" 

"Holy shit," Bucky breathed, a grin to match Clint’s growing on his face. 

Clint wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing happily. “That’s one million people who’re interested in what we have to say!” 

Shaking his head, Bucky asked, “How? Last week I swear we only had nine-hundred and fifty-thousand.” 

"The Redheads named us Vlog of the Week." 

"Nat and Pepper?" 

He nodded. “Reckon a lot of their followers checked us out based on that and liked what they saw. Which, y’know, why shouldn’t they? But hey!” Jumping away, he hoisted up the party poppers and blowers. “We have to make a thank you video! Celebrate hitting the seven-digit milestone.” 

Smirking, Bucky approached him slowly. “Sure. But, how about we celebrate in private first?” His hands rested on Clint’s hips, and from the look in his eyes Clint liked the sound of that. 

"We can use the party blowers?" 

"Absolutely not." 

"Aw."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Have you considered: Youtuber AU (also kinda roommate au because youtube pairs seem to be roommates) for winterhawk?"


	32. How Not to Win

"We’ve nearly got him!" 

"Yeah, I know -" 

"Come on, keep up the attack!" 

"I am Buck, just -" 

"Okay he’s stunned, do you have an overdrive move?" 

"Uh, maybe -" 

"Then use it, quickly!" 

"Alright, jeez! You gotta calm down, Buck, it’s only a -" 

"Yes!" 

"Ah!" 

"We did it! Fucking finally! We got that motherfucker Clint, we can - shit, Clint?" 

"Ow…" 

"Oh my god, did I hit you?" 

"Uh…" 

"I’m so sorry, I was just excited! Here, let me help you up." 

"Whoa - no -" 

"What’s wrong?" 

"Head’s, um… ‘s all kinda… dizzy…" 

"Dizzy? How hard did I - fuck, you’re bleeding!" 

"Table, maybe…" 

"Great. We finally beat the boss and I give you a concussion. I swear I’m never playing this game again." 

"… ‘s what you said last time…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk video game channel in which clint and bucky come close to murdering each other while playing a video game." Not being too familiar with gaming channels, I stuck with the 'close to murdering' part. Poor Clint. (He's fine.) Also, I have no idea what game they're playing :/


	33. We Mice Among Men

No matter how often Steve tried to convince him otherwise, Bucky was pretty sure that being a sidekick (because seriously, Hero Support? Why not call a sparrow a Tiny Non-Eagle?) sucked. Steve and the others in the Hero class were lauded over, while people like him and Clint were basically given a clap on the shoulder and told “look at it this way: at least you’re still here!” 

"It’s stupid," he complained - not for the first time. "I get that nobody’s gonna be impressed with a hero who can only make his left arm turn to metal but why should we be treated differently because of it?" 

Still focused on his phone, Clint shrugged, careful not to jostle Bucky’s head where it rested against his side. “Told you before, Bucky, you gotta stop letting it get to you.” 

"I can’t help it," he moaned. "And if anything, you should be annoyed." 

"Why?" 

"Being able to see farther than anyone else? Seeing things nobody else notices? How the hell is that sidekick material?" 

Clint sighed. “I can’t do much with it. Not anything the likes of Steve or Thor can do at least. I’m practically non-powered without it.” 

"So that’s it then? We’re only semi-heroic so we get treated like semi-heroes?" 

Dropping his phone, Clint moved his arm out from under Bucky’s shoulders and draped it over his chest. “You know that shit doesn’t matter to us,” he said with a smile. “You can still be heroic as a sidekick, and you can still be as valued by everyone else. I know Steve thinks the world of you, and do you really have to question the way I see you?” 

Bucky pouted slightly, turning onto his side. “They just… really know how to make a guy feel worthless,” he murmured. 

"Like hell you’re worthless," Clint snorted. "Steve says he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. Nat says she wouldn’t know how to care for people if you hadn’t shown her. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with one of the kindest, bravest, sexiest heroes I’ve ever met if not for you." 

"Carol Danvers?" 

"Shut up," he scoffed, flicking Bucky’s forehead as he smirked. "Don’t let the school system upset you, Bucky," he reiterated seriously. "It’s not up to the school to decide who the people you save are gonna appreciate." 

"Yeah," Bucky conceded softly. "Alright." One blessing, he supposed, was that if he’d been in the Hero class, he wouldn’t have met Clint Barton - and that idea just didn’t bear thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Sky High AU". Haven't seen Sky High, but I researched... did I get it?


	34. A Splash of Colour

"So come on - what do you think?"

Bucky cast a studious gaze over the new streaks of purple in Clint’s hair. Subsequently, his first question was: “Why purple?”

"Because purple is awesome."

"You have blonde hair."

Clint pouted. “And? Steve said that purple compliments yellow.”

"Only if you get the shades right."

He thumped Bucky on the shoulder, but they settled comfortably against one another on the bench and let the world saunter past them in a blur of people, ducks, and Frisbees followed by overexcited dogs. After a while, Clint said, “You should get your hair done too.”

Tensing, Bucky gave him a flat stare. “No.”

"Aw, why not? I think some red would suit you."

He sighed, shaking his head. “Not my thing. Might get another tattoo though. Or a piercing, which d’you think?”

"Uh, I dunno," Clint said, shrugging. "What would you get?"

Bucky thought about it. “Maybe a bar,” he said, tapping his left eyebrow. “Or, tattoo-wise, I was thinking about another sleeve maybe? Or something to add to this one.”

Nodding, Clint agreed. “All of them sound sexy.”

"You’re not helping," Bucky whined.

"I’m telling you what I think."

"Yeah, well I think you’re being difficult."

"And I think you love me anyway."

Dammit, he was right; and so Bucky ended up pulling him into a kiss, glad that he’d avoided admitting that he actually loved Clint’s new hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Teen!Punk!Winterhawk au" (They didn't really come across as teens, but oh well... I suck at writing punk characters anyway so apologies)


	35. Boredom Busters

It started in the range, obviously. What else would two snipers do with no missions, one bow, one rifle, as many targets and scenarios as they could dream up and the words “I bet” do with their time? Some would argue that it was only a matter of time before things moved from the range to the rest of the tower, and then, predictably, to the rest of the world.

(Luckily, they weren’t there just yet.) 

Steve had never been so grateful for his reflexes than when a pencil nearly took his eye out the moment he opened the door to the living room. As he stared at it where it lay behind him (innocent now, sure - wait, was that one of his?), a voice cried, “Aw, Cap, you ruined my shot!” while another crowed “That totally counts, Barton! Stevie, I could kiss you!” 

“What are you two even doing?” Steve had to ask, curiosity getting the better of him. Clint and Bucky sat on the couch, now angled to face the door, a pack of brand-new pencils between them (not his, then. Thank the Lord). Bucky motioned for him to close the door, and Steve found a cut-out of a face with lots of pencils protruding from the eyes, nose, mouth, and forehead. He turned back to them incredulously. 

“We’re improving our skill!” Bucky said. 

“Well, he’s improving his,” Clint added. 

“Shut it, Barton, you just missed his chin.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause Captain Timing here moved the target!” 

“Is that Tony?” Steve asked, staring hard at the pencil-mutilated face. 

“Don’t blame Steve for this. You should’ve sensed he was coming.” 

“Hearing aids don’t work miracles, Barnes!” 

“Why are you throwing pencils at Tony’s face?” 

“Well perhaps you should’ve taken the shot earlier.” 

“I’ll take as long as I damn-well please, old man.” 

“Does he know you’re doing this?” 

“Whatever. You failed, you gotta eat the –” 

“I didn’t fail, Steve interfered!” 

“Pepper’s not going to be happy, guys.” 

“Don’t blame him – your failure, your forfeit.” 

“You’re being grossly unfair. See if I ever make you coffee in the mornings ever again.” 

“Uh, guys? Pepper’s –” 

“Eat the dog food and I’ll still be there in the mornings.” 

"Aw, come on! Steve, tell him he can’t –” 

The two snipers froze in their seats when they noticed, suddenly, that Steve was no longer anywhere to be seen. Instead, Pepper stood in front of them, the cut-out of Tony in one hand, the other running over the multiple, very tiny holes that dotted the surface of the door. She locked eyes with them, and they both knew dog food was the least of their worries now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I saw an au that said imagine your otp challenging each other by saying anything you can do I can do better. My first thought was imagine bucky & Clint doing this but with shooting targets and stuff. had to share with you :D"


	36. Pushing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a _Push_ AU thing where I was asked to do Bucky/Clint/Nick, but because I wasn't so familiar with the film at the time I kinda didn't include Nick so much and just researched the 'verse to see how Bucky and Clint could fit into it. (I have since watched the movie and I loved it, so there may very well be more!)

"Hey," Clint called as Bucky walked into the room. "Did you bring food?"

"No," came the reply. "Nick’s still out. He’s hustling for tonight’s dinner."

Without looking away from the TV, Clint asked, “Did you tell him to get ice cream?”

"What? No."

"Aw, ice cream, Bucky!"

"Buying ice cream is pointless," Bucky pointed out, dropping a carrier bag full of tinned food onto the bed. "It’s expensive and we couldn’t make it last. Especially not with you around." Clint just grunted. It was then that Bucky noticed a bowl of something in his lap. "What are you eating?"

"Ice cream and fries." There was no response, and Clint finally tore his eyes away from the screen to find an incredulous expression directed his way. "What? I was hungry, and there was a parlour across the road."

"That’s disgusting."

"Is not. Try it." He held the bowl out, but Bucky waved it away.

"You want ice cream, you buy it," he muttered, sprawling out on the bed next to him. "I got enough to pay for another night here and Nick’ll likely get us Chinese or something."

"If he loves us, he’ll get us ice cream," Clint mumbled, earning himself a swat to the shoulder.

Bucky left him to his TV show and his… concoction for a few minutes. “Any visions lately?” he asked later, attempting nonchalance.

"Nope," Clint answered. "Any memories lately?"

He sighed. “No. I’m beginning to think the Wipers made it permanent.”

"Fuckers. Does Nick know?"

"He hasn’t asked." Bucky paused, leaning up into a sitting position and pulling his phone out, checking for any messages. There was nothing. "Do you think…" he began, twisting the phone in his fingers. "Do you think he’s becoming more… distant, lately?"

Clint turned to him. “Who, Nick?” Bucky nodded. “Not particularly. Why?”

Ducking his head, Bucky shrugged. “He’s always out these days. Barely spends time with us anymore. I feel like -” He cut himself off.

Muting the television, Clint abandoned his semi-melted ice cream and fries and nudged Bucky’s knee. “Like what?”

It took a few seconds before Bucky murmured, “Like I’ve become too much of a burden.”

"Bullshit," Clint said instantly. "That’s the last thing he thinks. Hey." He tipped Bucky’s head up, keeping his fingers under his chin so Bucky was forced to look directly at him. "You wanna know why Nick’s out so much? It’s so he can take care of us better. He’s making sure we’re still strong, still one step ahead of the Division, still able to keep you out of their reach. You know both of us would do anything to protect you, right? That includes crappy hotel rooms, cheap-ass take out for dinner, and yeah, maybe spending more time away from each other than together. So don’t doubt him," he said. "He cares about you, I care about you, and there’s not a chance in hell we’re gonna just abandon you to the wolves. Okay?"

Blinking, Bucky nodded, letting himself be kissed gently and leaning into the palm Clint placed against his cheek. He hated himself for questioning Nick’s actions, especially when he was one of two people in the world who didn’t see a Bleeder perfect for manipulating when they looked at him. Still, he missed him fiercely sometimes. “When he gets back, will you help me convince him to stay?”

Smiling, Clint nodded. “Of course.” He grabbed his ice cream mush again and repositioned himself on the bed, unmuting the TV as he said, “Now come on, stop moping. Olaf’s about to be introduced, and if anything can turn your frown upside down, it’s an optimistic singing snowman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Nick Gaut/Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes any prompt I just really need this ship. (P.S. Nick Gaut from Push encase you don't know and if you don't know Nick and how to write him it's all cool if you don't write it.)" (think they meant Nick Gant)


	37. Shenanigans

"Why are you dragging me into the bathroom?" was, in Bucky’s mind, a fairly reasonable question to ask, and the don’t-ask-stupid-questions look Clint threw him in response was wholly undeserved.

"Because," he eventually explained, "my family evidently… dislikes you," (Bucky snorted) "and I dislike that my family dislikes you, so we’re showing them that we don’t care."

"By hiding in the bathroom?"

"No," Clint said, ‘duh’ implied, "by pretending to have sex in the bathroom."

Bucky blinked at him. “As opposed to actually having sex in the bathroom.”

"What, you wanna get caught with your dick in my mouth?" Bucky grinned lewdly, making him roll his eyes. "Well I don’t. It’s my family, and they don’t quite hate me yet. Now come on - start with the obscene noises!"

Reigning in his incredulity, Bucky said, “Hold on a second. Won’t this just piss them off even further?”

"Yep."

"And why do we want to do that?"

"To show them we don’t care that they hate you."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered. "I just - if the door’s locked and they can’t get in, why do I have to pretend you’re giving me a blowjob when you could actually give me a blowjob?"

Clint raised his eyebrows. “You really think you’re gonna be able to keep it up when my dad starts banging on the door?”

"… Point taken." Bucky chewed his lip. "Shit, he’s really going to do that?"

"Probably - now come on, noises! My blowjobs aren’t that shitty."

"Why don’t you help?" Clint just glared at him. "Fine, fine, I’ll… Do you want me to start quiet and get louder or let them know straight off what’s happening?"

Fifteen minutes later, Clint was muttering curses into his steering wheel while Bucky tried to work out what to say. “I’m guessing you didn’t expect the throwing-out part, huh?”

"It’s fucking bullshit!" he exclaimed, glaring daggers at the windscreen. "One fake blowjob with a guy they don’t like and they kick me out of my own home?"

"You don’t live -"

"I got an actual blowjob in that same bathroom once and they didn’t do a goddamn thing!"

Bucky wasn’t sure how to respond (or even if he could). He let the silence ease down around them for a minute, then quietly said, “So I’m pretty good at pretend blowjobs?”

Despite himself, Clint grinned, shaking his head. “Guess you must be. Your future as a porn star is guaranteed.”

"I’m ecstatic."

He chuckled at the deadpan tone. Stealing a sideways glance, Clint asked, “Still up for the real deal?”

"Hm?"

"When we get home. Consider it a sorry-I-made-you-get-us-kicked-out gesture."

A twinkle appeared in Bucky’s eyes. “Maybe I can try and get your neighbours -“

"I’ve been kicked out of enough homes today, thank you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine that your OTP is at Person A’s family reunion. A’s family hates B, and they make it pretty obvious. B wants to leave, but A has an idea: they both go into the bathroom and pretend to have sex, to prank A’s family. They are both kicked out shortly. (Bonus if they go home and have sex for real.)- this came across the dash and all I want is the winterhawk"


	38. Secrets Unveiled

_Petrograd [St Petersburg], November 7th, 1917_

Clint was hurting Bucky - he knew it, and he wasn’t proud of it, but it needed to be done. The Bolsheviks were already inside the Winter Palace, and time was running out before they officially took control and sent this country down the shit-hole. Part of Clint had known the Templars would send Bucky to stop him, but it hadn’t made the shock any easier to deal with.

"Why are you doing this?" he cried, sending Bucky stumbling back into a chimney cluster. "How can you support this craziness? You used to be one of us, you know the Templars intend nothing good -"

"Shut up!" Bucky launched himself back into the fight, his danger hissing as it swung through the air millimetres from Clint’s body. They’d always been evenly matched, but the few good hits Clint had landed earlier gave him the upper hand; the dagger was knocked away, and Clint kicked Bucky down onto his back, straddling his chest and pointing his last remaining hidden blade at his throat.

"Tell me so I know," he demanded. "Why did you leave America? Why did you abandon your brothers - me - for the enemy?" Bucky glared at him, and Clint grew frustrated. "You’re an Assassin!"

"I’m a Templar."

"No!" Blinking back tears, he pressed the blade down a fraction harder. "You swore to stop them. You swore your allegiance to the Creed right next to me, and I have to know: was it a lie?"

Bucky swallowed. “No.”

"Then what do they have over you?" Clint pleaded. Bucky looked away. "Tell me, Bucky! What could they possibly be holding over your head to make you betray -"

"You!"

The whole world froze, capturing Clint in its stillness and letting nothing but that one word resonate through his head. And maybe it was that, or maybe it was the sudden blurring of his vision, that allowed Bucky to change their roles, to push Clint off him and deliver three solid blows to take him out. As consciousness was taken from him, a quiet “I won’t let you die because of me,” was the last thing he heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Assassain's Creed AU with Clint and Bucky because you don't have enough on your plate"
> 
> Also, this was the image of the Winter Palace I was using for a reference:


	39. Back to the Start

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, a grin spreading across his face. “What are you doing with your arms?” 

Clint groans. “I have no idea.” 

Junior year of college, their first night in their rented off-campus apartment. Bucky and Clint are sat on their measly kitchen sides, watching the twenty-year-old versions of themselves celebrate with copious amounts of pizza, a few bottles of coca cola, at least one bottle of vodka, maybe a bottle of whiskey, and several tubs of cookie dough and chocolate fudge ice cream. The movie had entertained them for all of half an hour before they decided to make their own dance routines to the musical numbers, and this was a particularly wild tune. 

“I remember one of us got really drunk,” Bucky comments, “but honestly I thought it was me.” 

“I thought it was you too.” 

“Clearly not.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I mean, with moves like… What even was that?” 

Clint rolls his eyes. “Okay -” 

“How did you spin whilst -” 

“Knock it off, like you were any better!” He points to the younger Bucky, just kind of shuffling on the spot as he laughs at Clint. “Always said you were a granddad.” 

“I know you did, kid.” Clint just snorts at that, bumping him with his shoulder before they both go back to just watching themselves. “Isn’t there a slow dance coming up?” 

“I don’t remember a slow dance,” Clint admits. “But I do remember you - or maybe me, actually - kind of swaying and getting sick?” 

“No, that would totally have been you!” Bucky declares. “All those ice cream tubs say so.” 

Clint turns to him, disbelieving. “Hey, there’s like, two completely empty ones on the sofa, the rest are still half-full at least!” 

Bucky just smirks. “I’m talking about all the ice creams tubs ever to fall into your hands, Clint Barton.” 

“… Even so.” He turns away again, pouting as he folds his arms over his chest and making Bucky laugh. It sounds just as good, if not better, than when they were both flesh and blood. “Hey,” he asks suddenly. “What do you think’ll happen when this… ‘replay’ is over?” 

Chewing on his lip for a moment, Bucky just shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t really care, either.” 

“Really?” Clint asks. “You aren’t worried we won’t see each other again?” 

“Clint,” Bucky says softly, a smile on his face as he leans closer. “We died. You think I wasn’t worried then that I was never going to see you again?” His words go straight to Clint’s heart, and he rests a hand at the crook of his neck. “We’ve been together since we were barely knee-height. You sure the universe is even capable of splitting us up?” 

“Well,” Clint murmurs. “When you put it like that…” 

Sat as ghosts on the kitchen counter, the two of them kiss, leisurely, with a familiarity that’ll never get old. Meanwhile, their twenty-year-old selves stumble up from the couch and slump against each other, swaying just a little too vigorously for the romantic pace of the song and Clint’s stomach to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine your OTP has died, but are together as ghosts, watching their romance from start to finish. Imagine them sitting in their dark kitchen, invisible, watching their past selves dance together there in the middle of the night, a long time ago."


	40. Doctor Says...

"Vanilla latte." 

"What?" Bucky chuckles as he peels off his gloves. 

"That’s your order, right? Vanilla latte?" 

"Why are you guessing my order, Mr Barton?" 

"Clint," Barton says, still sat on the bench. "Because I think by now I probably owe you, like, a zillion coffees." 

Grabbing some paperwork, Bucky turns his back on his patient. “Probably. Now, I’m assuming you still have -“ 

"So was I right?" 

He sighs. “No. Do you have -“ 

"It’s espresso, isn’t it?" 

Bucky rubs his forehead. “It’s not, but I’m trying to ask -“ 

"Oh, are you into the pumpkin stuff?" 

"Mr Barton -" 

"Because if you ask me that’s a little over-" 

"Clint!" Barton stops in his tracks, looking at him in surprise. Trying to maintain his professionalism, Bucky gently says, "I’m sorry, but I can’t go out on a coffee date with you, if that’s what you’re asking, though I appreciate the sentiment. Now, can I please ask you a question?" 

Swallowing, Barton nods. “Uh, yeah, sure doc,” he mumbles, and Bucky feels a little cruel. 

Nevertheless… “Do you still have the name of the physical therapist I recommended you when you first dislocated your shoulder?” 

"Oh." Barton nods again. "Think so." Bucky goes back to his paperwork. "I also have the names of several restaurants friends have recommended me…" 

He stops writing, and can’t help but look up at his patient with a smile. “Mr Barton, please believe me when I say this isn’t personal,” he begins, “but no thank you.” 

"… Okay." Barton finally looks like he gets the message. And the look on his face is so reminiscent of a kicked puppy that Bucky really does feel guilty. 

So, when Clint shuffles to the door on his way out, Bucky hands him the paperwork for the desk clerk and says, “Black.” 

Good arm halfway towards the document, Clint frowns. “Excuse me?” 

"My coffee order." He smiles again, ignoring the voice at the back of his head telling him this is a very, very bad idea. "You can bring it for me when you come back for a check-up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "i do stupid shit and you’re my doctor au tell me this is not Clint ending up telling Bucky he's going to buy coffee/dinner because Clint’s pretty much paid Bucky thousands of dollars by the time they go out"


	41. Love Runs (Very) Deep

In all his years, Bucky could honestly say he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined falling in love with an elf. It was practically unheard of, and he was far from what you might call a remarkable specimen of his own species – yet there was just something about Clint that felt right, that made him feel whole. Together, they just… fit. 

Yet after watching them interact, you’d never believe it. 

“Hope this isn’t your idea of a date,” Bucky muttered, flinching away as another bramble leaf stuck itself in his eye. 

To his right, Clint spared him a dark look. “No. Be quiet,” he whispered. 

“But when you mentioned not going to tonight’s feast empty handed –” 

“Bucky –” 

“I didn’t realise you meant ‘without dinner’.” 

A strong hand gripped his shoulder, and Bucky looked across to find Clint glaring at him. “Are you capable of helping me, or do I have to make you sit here in silence like the child you are sometimes?” 

Bristling at the tone, Bucky flexed his hand around his slingshot. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. Clint just nodded, and they crept forward again. Not a second later, Bucky continued, “I’ve been successful in hunts before, you know. Complimented, even.” He smiled. “Yes, no need to worry about me, Clint. You’re hunting in the company of someone with the surety of a bear, and the stealth of a lion.” 

A twig snapped beneath his foot, impossibly loud. Up ahead, the deer froze. 

Clint sighed, whispering “Unbelievable,” before springing up and securing their dinner lest Bucky scared it away for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Clint as a Wood Elf and Bucky a Dwarf"


	42. The Knitwear Before Christmas

The clicking was bothering him. Steve could hear it all the way in the kitchen, and all he knew was that Bucky was the one making it. He had half a mind to go and see what, exactly, his friend was doing, but it must have shown on his face because Clint stopped making marzipan Falcon wings and shook his head sternly. 

“Leave him be, Steve. He’s having a moment.” 

“A moment?” Steve echoed, looking back to the lounge. “What kind of moment?” 

“A knitting one.” 

He turned sharply back to the archer, surprised by how casually those words left his mouth. “Knitting? Bucky knits?” 

“Yup,” Clint replied, finishing up the wings and tearing a new ball of marzipan free. 

“Since when?” 

“Since… Oregon? Y’know, with the dragon things.” 

“And his arm was damaged.” 

He nodded. “Well, when we got back, a therapist suggested he take up knitting to improve his dexterity. That and I think he likes how easy it is, or relaxing, or calming… Honestly, I don’t know.” Clint shrugged. “My boyfriend knits. I don’t stop him.” 

Steve hummed, returning to his own marzipan Iron Man mask. A minute later, he raised his head again, brow creased. “Wait, so all those really ugly sweaters that everyone’s been getting…” 

Clint grinned. “Sounds like yours is well under way, man. Welcome to the club.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk: Bucky knitting ugly sweaters for everyone"


	43. No Time for Snacks

“‘Kay gang, what’s the plan?” 

The girls shot Clint sideways glances, and Kate raised an eyebrow. “Since when was that your line?” 

Clint shrugged, eyes fixed on the distant cage where Bucky was being held. “No-one was saying anything,” he said, “so I thought I’d get things moving.” 

Frowning, Natasha sighed through her nose. “I can’t see the Skull anywhere,” she murmured. “He might be waiting for us, using James as a lure.” 

"So we can’t just run in and grab our guy, huh?" 

"Not unless you want to join him, Kate." Kate snorted. 

An idea forming in his mind, Clint shared a glance with Lucky. The dog cocked his ear up, as if he’d had the same thought, and with a pounding heart Clint nodded decisively. “We’ll make a distraction,” he said, ignoring Lucky’s noise of confusion. “Me and Lucky can draw the Skull out, and you two can get Bucky while he’s chasing us.” 

Natasha turned to Kate, the two of them holding a conversation through expressions that only girls probably understood. After a minute or two, they turned back to him. “That’s a great plan Clint,” Kate surprised him by saying, a smile on her face, “but we’re going to change it slightly.” 

"Uh, how?" 

"Kate and I will cause a scene," Natasha said, sticking her head out over the boxes they were hiding behind. "If the Skull shows, we’ll draw him away from here, and that’ll be your cue to get to the cage." She pulled a lockpick out of her pocket, handing it to him with a smirk. "Think you can manage that?" 

Lucky panted next to him, wagging his tail excitedly. Clint took the lockpick wordlessly, staring up at them as they got ready to go. “Wait, are you…” 

Grinning, Kate told him, “Go get your boy, Barton. And when the two of you are done with your celebratory make-out session, tell him he’s an idiot from us?” Clint just nodded, and with a cocky wink from Kate the girls were gone. 

He turned back to his dog, who pushed his nose against his hand and wagged his tail a little harder. “I know,” Clint mumbled, closing his fist and breathing out slowly. Eyes on Bucky’s prison, he grinned. “Let’s be the heroes for once, boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk plus two others of your choosing Scooby Do AU"


	44. R&R

The sun felt glorious on his bare skin, the faintest whisper of the breeze even nicer, and the fingers pressing into his scalp? Bucky could easily have been in heaven. 

"This was a great idea," he said on a sigh, eyes closed as he basked in the sensations. 

Clint chuckled. “Thanks. I made doubly sure we won’t be interrupted, either, so we won’t have to stop for anything.” 

"How’d you do that?" 

"Never you mind," he insisted, his smile loud and clear to Bucky’s ears. "Just know that you did what was asked of you, and now you’re being treated." 

"By you?" 

"Yeah. And S.H.I.E.L.D." 

"And S.H.I.E.L.D," he agreed with a slight laugh. Humming, Bucky let his mind sink further into bliss. "How’re you so good…" 

"Practise," Clint said. "Not the first time I’ve done this." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, eyes still shut. “So why am I only being treated now?” 

"It was never the right time." 

"Oh." Cryptic as Clint’s answer was, Bucky decided to let it slide, and sighed as he let himself relax. The sun, the breeze, the pressure on his head: it was all perfect, and he knew the recently ended mission was fading from his mind. He smiled. "Sorry I wasn’t on board with this earlier." 

Clint’s voice was gentle as he said, “Don’t worry about it, Buck. You’re here now, aren’t you?” 

"Oh yeah," he groaned, completely at ease. He lay there for a few more minutes, enjoying the sensations. "Tahiti," he murmured later. "Really is magical."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk: AWOL after a mission to a tropical location because they wanted a holiday."
> 
> _Sorry not sorry please don't hate me!_


	45. The Power of Springsteen

Bucky didn’t particularly want to make enemies in his first week of college, but he’d had it. This was the fifth time on the fifth day that his neighbour had blasted his music out, and being at the end of the corridor, Bucky was the only one who was suffering, he was sure of it. That was how he found himself outside door H, waiting anxiously and wondering if his knocking had even been heard. When the music kept playing, he stepped forward to knock again, only to have the door open and a half-naked blonde guy leap backwards in fright after nearly walking into him. 

"One sec!" he shouted, ducking back into his room and (finally, thank fuck) turning his music down. Bucky heard him rummaging around for something, his annoyance climbing until the guy finally reappeared at the door in pants and a t-shirt. "Sorry ‘bout that," he said. "Wasn’t expecting visitors today." 

"Oh, that’s, uh…" 

"So what’s up?" 

Bucky gestured to his door. “I’m your neighbour, and I thought I’d just tell you that you’ve gotta turn your music down.” 

Blondie frowned. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

"It’s too damn loud! I can hear it through the wall perfectly and I’d rather not." 

"Okay, but -" 

"No, no buts! I’ve put up with it for five days now, and I really doubt you or my other neighbour would appreciate it if I tried to compete, so I’m asking nice-" Bucky paused suddenly, brow drawing together as a new track began playing in the background. "Is that… Bruce Springsteen?" 

"Hm?" Blondie turned round. "Oh, yeah, my mom used to listen to him. Kept her old CDs, so he kinda grew on me too." 

Bucky couldn’t help grinning. “I, uh, I actually love this song…” Great. Here he is, totally undermining himself by yelling about the guy’s music then complimenting him on it midway through. He shook himself. “But, anyway, uh, d’you think you could just keep it down please? The walls aren’t that thick, apparently.” 

"Yeah, sure man," Blondie nodded. "I really had no idea. I’m deaf, so when these puppies aren’t in I can’t tell what’s loud and what’s not." He turned his head, pointing to a small device fitted to the back of his ear, and geez, didn’t Bucky feel even better about this whole ordeal? 

"Oh, I didn’t know…" 

Blondie waved it off. “Course not. Don’t worry about it, it’s no big deal.” Bucky nodded, and the guy held out a hand. “I’m Clint.” 

"James," he returned, pleasantly surprised by how nice the handshake felt. "But that’s a bit stiff, so Bucky’s fine." 

Clint smiled. “So, I don’t know if you’re busy or anything, but if you wanna come in and moon over Bruce Springsteen with me…” 

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky said, “Sounds great, but weren’t you going somewhere?” 

"Naw, just the kitchen," Clint said, stepping aside. "Noodles can wait until after you’ve explained how Bucky relates to James." 

Bucky ended up sharing in those noodles many hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your music is annoyingly loud and - holy shit is that my favorite song? winterhawk au"


	46. Flop

**Bobbi**   
_Help me the Russians are drunk_

That was the text Clint received at midnight the day after he returned from a week-long operation out in Tanzania. Sat on his bed, already in pyjamas, he groaned, cursing Nat, Bucky and Bobbi in that order before shoving his feet back into his shoes and slinging on a hoodie. He sent a text back to say he was on his way, hoping his grumpiness was evident in the shortness of the message. 

Arriving at the communal lounge, he understood why Bobbi had called for help. Bucky was sprawled out on the floor, Natasha half-draped over the table from where she was sat, a nearly empty bottle of illegibly-branded vodka in her hand, and both of them were laughing. Bobbi stood between them, hands on her hips, looking thoroughly fed up. “You take him,” she said after apologising to Clint, “and I’ll deal with her.” 

Still too tired to do much beyond cooperate, Clint grunted and went to haul Bucky off the floor. As they were leaving, he began to get an inkling of just how much the two of them had had when he heard Natasha say to Bobbi, “In Soviet Russia, bird is mocking you.” 

Bucky wasn’t too bad at first - he simply rambled on about something in terrible drunken Russian, pausing every now and again to laugh at himself and frown at the air in his hand where his drink once was. He even pressed a few sloppy kisses to the side of Clint’s head from time to time, giggling afterwards like a lovesick kid. It was when Clint guided him into the bedroom that his antics finally peaked. 

“Clint, I love you,” he slurred as he was dropped on the mattress. 

Rolling his eyes, Clint knelt down to remove Bucky’s shoes. “Thanks, Buck. Love you too.” 

“But I wanna, wanna show you, Clint - wanna show you how much I fuckin’ love you.” 

“Great, you can do that by not - Bucky, what are you doing?” 

Bucky was climbing unsteadily to his feet, using Clint for support. He didn’t say anything, and before Clint could work out what he was doing his pants and boxers both hit the floor with a thump, and Bucky himself fell back onto the bed with a fairly sleepy-sounding “Ta-dah!”. 

Clint blinked. “That’s your penis.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, grinning up at the ceiling, arms spread on the blankets. “’Cause I love you.” 

Had he not been so incredibly jet-lagged, this would have been beyond hilarious. But no - Tanzania was too far away. Burying his face in his hands, Clint cursed evil nature-altering scientists, time zones, and extra-strength Russian vodka, and then began praying he wouldn’t find himself covered in vomit any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Okay! Okay! Here's a prompt: Bucky shows Clint his penis."
> 
> I'm sorry about the title. 'Flop' just felt appropriate...


	47. Bang Bang

It all started with a bang, followed by a lot of gunshots, smoke, shouting, and all-round general confusion. It was when that confusion was cleared, when the shouting stopped, the smoke dispersed and the gunshots echoed away that it was obvious things had gone wrong. 

"Clint?" 

A few feeble coughs were his answer, and Bucky dropped down on his knees next to him, eyes widening at what he saw. “Shit,” he said, pulling at the hole in Clint’s shirt to reveal a larger, blood-covered one in his chest. “Someone call in Med-Evac!” Bucky yelled over his shoulder, immediately covering the bullet wound with his hands. “Clint? Can you talk?” he asked, cringing as Clint grimaced beneath him. “Alright, just - just hang on, okay? C’mon Clint, stay with me!” 

May knelt down opposite him, one hand on her earpiece. She nudged Bucky’s hands away. “Central bullet wound to the chest,” she said, rattling off other information into her comms while Bucky maintained pressure. A minute later, she snapped, “Do better,” and produced a wad of gauze from somewhere. “Evac says ten minutes,” she reported grimly. 

Bucky stared at her. “Ten…” Something bumped his knee, and he looked down to see Clint’s head lolling to the side, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!” slipped out from Bucky’s lips, and he grabbed the gauze from May. “Clint, open your eyes!” he shouted, vaguely aware that May was also making demands of someone. “Don’t you do this to me, Barton, don’t you dare. Ten minutes, that’s all you gotta do, okay? Just ten minutes, Clint. Help is on the way. God, Clint, please, ten fuckin minutes, that’s all I’m asking. That’s all I’m asking… Please…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ""Oh fuck, oh FUCK!" For winterhawk, naturally."


	48. With Love Comes Trust

“Bucky, you don’t have to do this.” 

Across the room, Bucky drops his toothbrush and paste on the bed next to his bag. “I do, Clint.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re overreacting.” 

“After what I did to Hill, I’m not taking any chances,” he says, zipping the bag closed. “And neither should you.” 

Frustrated, Clint runs his hand through his hair. “It was a relapse, Bucky, the first in one year. We’ve already got a telepath coming in, you don’t need to… self-imprison yourself like this.” 

“She’s coming in a week, Clint. Anything could happen until then.” 

“You don’t know that!” He steps forward, holding Bucky’s hands where they grip the bag’s straps. “Bucky, come on – I know you, and I know that what you did to Hill was… a freak accident, a one-off occurrence –” 

“Do you?” Bucky asks, scepticism rife in his tone. 

“Well I’m ninety-nine per-cent sure,” Clint huffs back, and he squeezes Bucky’s hands. “Please, don’t go. I trust you.” 

Eyes on the floor, Bucky shakes his head, and whispers, “Don’t trust me.” 

Heart clenching, Clint ducks to kiss him, coaxing a response out of him after a couple of seconds of hesitation. “If you think I’m staying away for seven days,” he says afterwards, “you are sorely mistaken.” Taking Bucky’s bag, he adds, “And for the record, I think this is a bullshit idea.” 

“Noted.” Bucky’s smile might be too small to even be considered as such by some, but Clint’ll take what he can until the telepath does her job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ""Don't trust me." For winterhawk, naturally."


	49. Take It All Away

Clint found Bucky in the barn’s hayloft an hour later. He’d already burnt the last of the corpses, and knew he probably smelt like that, but he wanted to make sure Bucky was okay (and to know if he was allowed to stick around). 

“Hey,” he called out softly once he was at the top of the ladder. Bucky just gave him a flicker of a smile in return; his eyes were visibly red, raw from crying maybe, and the abundance of dust clogging up the small space. Settling down next to him against a bale, Clint wondered where to begin. “How are you feeling?” 

Bucky shrugged. “Kinda numb,” he answered, voice grating in the quiet. “Don’t want to believe she’s…” 

Butterflies sprouted up in Clint’s stomach, and he swallowed thickly to keep the threatened nausea at bay. “Bucky,” he said, “I am so, so sorry. If there’s… If you want me to leave, I’ll – I’ll understand.” 

He didn’t receive an immediate answer, and Clint took that as a sign. After a couple of silent minutes he made to get up and go, stopping when Bucky reached out and clasped his wrist. 

“Please don’t go.” He wasn’t making eye contact, but the desperation in his voice and grip was enough to make Clint seat himself once more. They were quiet again, until Bucky said, “What happened doesn’t change anything.” He looked up. “Between us, I mean.” His fingers felt cool against Clint’s skin, and Clint wanted badly to warm him up. “I’m a little grateful, actually, I guess. If it had just been me and Becca, I couldn’t have –” Bucky swallowed. “I wouldn’t have done what you did.” He squeezed Clint’s wrist, trembling faintly. “So, tha-” 

“Don’t thank me.” Clint shook his head. “Don’t thank me,” he repeated vehemently. 

Bucky’s thumb rubbed over his knuckles. “Then, thank you for saving my life,” he said, raising a small smile up to Clint. Clint managed one in return, blinking heavily. It really was dusty. 

At night, when Clint still mistook the creaking of wood for inhuman groaning, Bucky woke up in tears with his sister’s name on his lips, and all Clint could do as he sobbed “I failed her,” again and again into his shirt was hold him tightly, and hum the same song Bucky used to sing her to sleep with into his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk, "What happened doesn’t change anything.""


	50. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief allusions to child/alcohol abuse ahead.

Bucky’s phone went off at three in the morning. He grabbed it with all the grace of the sleep-blind, yawning harshly before answering. “’lo?” 

“I’m sorry for waking you up but Dad’s home and he’s drunk.” 

Frowning, Bucky sat up. “Clint?” 

“Yeah.” His voice sounded shaky, and Bucky’s brain started to process what was being said. 

“Your Dad’s drunk.” 

Clint sniffed. “Yeah. Barney told me to get out, so I did, but I can’t remember the way to yours and one of my hearing aids has died and I don’t know this street that I’m on and – please come get me.” 

He didn’t need to ask twice; Bucky was already pulling on a pair of shoes. “Of course I will – which street?” He knew the one Clint told him, and hoped his Dad would be okay with driving out there at this time of night. 

“I’m worried about Barney,” Clint said. “Last time, he – Dad broke his ribs, Buck. He’s got SATs this week, he can’t miss –” 

“Call the police, Clint,” Bucky said. “That’s all you can do for him.” He knocked on his parents’ door. “Look, I’m nearly ready to go, okay? Just… stay put. Find somewhere out of sight, call the police, and we’ll get there as soon as we can.” 

“Okay,” Clint said, still sounding anxious. 

“I love you,” Bucky told him, hanging up as his dad opened the door. “Dad, Clint’s in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk - "Please come get me.""


	51. Nightly Concerns

Bucky’s nightmares were worse on more stressful days. It was understandable, as far as they were concerned, but though it meant they could prepare themselves for more-sleepless nights, it still wasn’t particularly pleasant. 

"C’mon, Bucky," Clint growled, throwing himself bodily on top of the thrashing man. "Wake up - come back to me, now, come on." 

Eventually, Bucky did come back, with a sharp cry and a final jerk out of his mind’s cage. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, but when his gaze focused on Clint the tension rushed out of him, and he slumped back onto his pillows. “Fuck.” 

"You’re okay," Clint soothed, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair as they each caught their breath. "Just dreams, Bucky. Just dreams." 

Bucky huffed. “Sure felt real enough,” he muttered. With a grimace, he pressed a hand to his side over the covers – and frowned. He moved his hand under the sheets, and when he pulled it back out Clint thought the fingers looked darker. 

“Shit, are you bleeding?” 

He nodded, staring at his hand as Clint switched on the lights, sliding out of bed to find their first-aid kit. It turned out Bucky had only pulled open one of his wounds from earlier today, but the damage was more than physical. 

“What are you thinking?” Clint asked him, taping a new patch of gauze over the fresh stitches. Bucky’d been silent for a while, and Clint was concerned he’d slipped back into his head again. 

With a sigh, Bucky said, “That I’m tired of this. Waking up, waking you up, hurting myself more…” He turned his head, leaning his forehead against the crook of Clint’s neck. “When’s it gonna stop, Clint?” 

Despite wanting to promise him it would stop soon, Clint couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Maybe never,” he admitted, curling his arm around Bucky’s shoulders; “But it will get better, Buck. For both of us. Of that I’m sure.” 

At his side, Bucky groaned, muttering, “I’m so fucking selfish.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

“You’re going through the same shit, but you never –” 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.” Clint squeezed his shoulders, kissing the short strands of Bucky’s sweat-damp hair. “What do you wanna do now?” he asked, eager to dispel the gloom threatening to settle over them. 

Bucky sat up, rubbing his eyes. “TV,” he said. “Maybe some Mario Kart or something.” 

“Alright. Go ahead, I’ll clear up.” 

Clint had to believe things were going to get better; the idea of things staying this bad just didn’t bear thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can I ask for Shit, are you bleeding!?"


	52. In, and Out...

Never before had Bucky received such a panicked phone call, and from the half-formed sentences he managed to ascertain that: a) Clint was calling him, and b) he was at the veterinary hospital, which could only mean one thing. 

He got there as fast as he could, spotting Clint pacing outside as he pulled up. Clint only paced when he was close to freaking out, and Bucky was by his side in less than a minute after arriving. 

"Hey," he said, stopping Clint in his tracks. "What is it?" 

"Lucky," Clint said, eyes wide. "He was - the road, and - car just wouldn’t - I yelled - now he’s - it’s my fault, it’s all my - I need him, Bucky, he can’t -" 

"Alright, Clint?" Bucky said, intervening before Clint got himself more worked up. "Look at me - just breathe, okay? Nice and slow, deep breaths." Clint did as he was told, screwing his eyes shut and clinging to Bucky’s shirt. "There, that’s it," Bucky encouraged, holding his shoulders reassuringly. "Start again when you’re ready." 

It took a minute or two, but Clint finally let go, breathing somewhat steadied, and started to sign shakily; _Lucky was hit by a car. He’s in surgery. Looked bad._

"Jesus," Bucky breathed. "How long ago?" 

_When I phoned you._

At a loss for what to say, Bucky just murmured “Oh, Clint,” and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” he added, rubbing a hand down his back. “He is called Lucky, after all.” 

Clint huffed a wet laugh into his shoulder, arms tightening marginally around Bucky’s waist. Everyone knew how much he loved Lucky, but Bucky guessed he was still a little embarrassed about being so emotional. That, and maybe he was truly scared. 

"Why don’t we wait inside?" Bucky suggested. "It’s warmer in there, has seats, and the vet’ll be able to find you sooner once they’ve got some news for you." Clint agreed, and Bucky accompanied him into the clinic, one hand locked in a near-death grip. For Clint’s sake, and Lucky’s, he started praying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Ooh I can't decide between look at me, just breathe or please put it down. Which ever you like better :)"


	53. Friends In Need

“Natasha!” 

She lay a few metres away, unmoving, red hair made darker by the blood coating the strands. The explosion had been strong – Bucky knew they’d been hit hard, but she’d been in front of him. What if something else had hit her, or she’d been too close to the blast? The extraction team was already circling her, but he had to see for himself. 

“Natasha!” 

If he could just see a sign she was okay… 

“Natasha, please!” 

A twitch. A groan. One of the glares she used to give him when he was being particularly idiotic – 

“Natalia!” 

“Bucky!” 

Someone was holding him back, trying to pull him away. He didn’t want to leave; he had to stay where he could see her, so that he knew she was okay – 

“Come on Bucky, let them –” 

“Let go of me!” Bucky struck out at the body behind him, sending whoever it was flying into the wall. The person cried out, the noise followed by a sharp crack, and he only turned round when he recognised the pained moan that sounded a second later. “Oh…” 

Clint was slumped against the wall, face twisted, one hand on the back of his head and the other on his stomach, where Bucky’s metal arm had struck him. “I’m okay,” he grunted 

Bucky found himself torn between going to check Clint really was okay and keeping his eyes on Natasha, head darting frantically between the two, every muscle strained with indecision. “I’m sorry,” he said to Clint, eyes wide. “I have to – Natasha’s hurt.” 

“I know,” Clint replied, standing slowly. 

“She should be up by now.” 

“I know, Bucky.” 

“She was hurt because of me.” 

Clint coughed. “Bucky –” 

“Shit, I even hurt you – but I can’t just leave –” 

“Hey!” Clint’s hands were on his shoulders, squeezing both metal and flesh. “Bucky, I know. But there’s nothing you can do.” 

The medics were still talking loudly behind him. Bucky wanted to know what they were doing, how Natasha was, and though he itched to turn his head in their direction Clint moved his hands to the side of Bucky’s neck, keeping their gazes locked. Bucky swallowed, Clint’s face blurring in front of him. “I can’t lose her, Clint,” he choked out. “She was there during the Red Room, she knows what I… she understands…” He blinked rapidly. “I can’t lose her.” 

Moving slowly, Clint pulled Bucky into an embrace, cradling his head against his shoulder as he kissed the shell of his ear. “I know,” he murmured, Bucky’s arms wrapping tightly around his sore torso. “I don’t want to either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "well i think i'll go with " let go of me!" ? or " I cant stand you!" ? I'm not sure, choice is yours- ( 'course) winterhawk by the way"


	54. Sunday's Child

"Daddy, Daddy, I’ve got your foot!" 

"Argh, nooo!" Bucky moaned from the couch as Becca eventually succeeded in pulling off his boot. "Not my foot, Becks, I need that." 

"Mine now!" she laughed, running to the other end of the living room with his ‘foot’ clutched to her chest. He recognised the look in her eyes, her mischievous grin hidden behind the leather, and sighed, dropping his head back against the couch cushions. 

"How am I supposed to chase you with one foot?" She’d already worn him out that morning. It was a Sunday, dammit, he just wanted to relax. 

"You have to hop!" Becca said. 

"Why don’t you bring it back, huh?" 

"No!" 

"But Becca, I miss my foot!" Becca just laughed again, turning her back to him so he couldn’t even see his ‘foot’. "Hey, that’s cheating." 

"Wha’s cheating?" a sleep-laden voice asked from behind him, and Bucky tipped his head back further to appreciate the accompanying view. 

"You with no shirt. Becca not letting me see my foot." 

Rubbing his eyes, Clint leaned over the couch and frowned at Bucky’s feet. “You mean your shoe?” 

"Yep." 

"Clint, look, I’ve got Daddy’s foot!" 

"Oh yeah," Clint said, grinning. "How did you manage that?" 

"I was sneaky." 

"I blame you for this." 

"Hey, you’re her father. I’m just the cool boyfriend." 

Bucky snorted as Clint bent down to kiss his head. “So you’ll help me get it back?” 

"Nuh-uh, it’s Sunday. I need coffee." 

"But Clint," Bucky whined, making his daughter laugh, "I need my foot! I’ve already lost an arm." 

"You can get a shiny foot like you have a shiny arm," Becca said. 

"Can I now?" he muttered. 

"Hey, Becca, can you imagine how cool that would make your Dad?" Clint said from the kitchen. "I bet no-one at school has a shiny dad." 

The idea appealed to Becca much more than it did Bucky. “Everyone would be really jealous!” she told Clint as he came through with his coffee. “They might even want him to be their daddy instead.” 

"Wait, what?" 

"Well, one girl’s daddy works in a teddy bear store, and, um, everyone wants him to be their daddy so he can get teddy bears for them." 

"Hey, I’m better than that. I’m shiny," Bucky said indignantly. 

"But no-one has a one-footed dad?" Clint asked. 

Becca shook her head. “Nope.” 

"And having a one-footed dad is cool?" 

"Yep." 

"So they’d all want Bucky to be… Y’know, actually Becca, I think your dad kinda needs his foot today -" 

"No he doesn’t!" Becca declared. "It’s mine!" And with that, she took off. 

Clint looked at the couch, and at Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “Aw, do I have to chase her?” 

Bucky was making himself comfortable, TV remote already in hand. “You’re the one with both feet in this relationship.” 

"You’re hilarious." Clint sighed, shuffling off to find Becca and retrieve his boyfriend’s ‘foot’, grumbling, "It’s Sunday, man," as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a lazy sunday, winterhawk (i dont know what comes out of this, so ignore if you want :) okay maybe we can add Becca,their daughter)"


	55. Reliable Plans

"What would you do if you came home and found the first aid kit empty?" 

Clint shrugs, wincing as Bucky presses an iodine-soaked piece of cotton wool to a gash on his forehead (which now feels bigger than he initially thought it was… huh). “Borrow a neighbour’s?” 

"I’m not sure they’d have one to cater for your oh-so-varied needs." Bucky brushes Clint’s hair aside, sighing through his nose as his mouth adopts a disapproving curve. "How you aren’t concussed, I’ll never know." 

"Thick skull," Clint jokes, smile fading when it doesn’t seem to lighten the mood much. "Look, I had a plan, okay? I knew what I was doing." 

Bucky’s eyebrow raises, though he continues dabbing at Clint’s forehead. “Really? And how detailed was this ‘plan’?” 

"Detailed enough." Bucky gives him a look. "It had stages and everything!" Steve would’ve approved of that, right? 

"So tell me." 

"Uh…" Clint swallows. "Stage one: find the bad robots. Stage two: stop the bad robots doing bad robot things. Stage three: go home and sleep." 

"Of course," Bucky mutters, turning back to the medical kit strewn across the bed-side table. 

Feeling dejected, Clint lets his shoulders drop, his bruised left one throbbing momentarily. “If you’re gonna be mad at me,” he says, “can we get it over with?” He looks up at the sound of a plaster being torn open but can’t quite keep his gaze on Bucky as it’s gently pressed to the cut on his forehead, Bucky’s fingers lingering on the sides of his head. 

"I’m not mad, Clint," he says, voice as gentle as his touch. "These days I can get through the pissed-off stage in five seconds. Well - six this time." Smiling, he steps closer, hands drifting down to the sides of Clint’s neck. "Just…" Bringing his lips to the freshly-placed bandage, he kisses the material firmly but tenderly, breath hot against Clint’s skin as he asks, "Call for backup next time?" 

"Alright," Clint agrees, curling his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. Smirking, he glances up at him. "But only if backup agrees to step three of the plan." Bucky chuckles, exasperated, but Clint knows the deal is sealed when he receives a proper kiss, his aches and pains receding for that one, blissful moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky patching Clint up after a reckless mission and kissing him better is something I desperately need in my life."


	56. No Denying It

"So this… This was fun. Yeah?" 

He’s off to Siberia in two hours, but Bucky hasn’t been to his apartment since some time after ten last night. He would argue that it’s because Clint’s is closer to the tower (except it’s not) and that Clint makes a better breakfast (which he doesn’t), but the real reason for him being there is… complicated. At least, it looks like it’s about to be. “Sure. Always is.” 

"No, that’s what I…" Clint folds his arms. Then he unfolds them. Then he grabs a coffee mug and almost takes a drink from it. Bucky waits, still chewing on a piece of pancake. "This whole… thing we had," Clint continues. "I enjoyed it. A lot. And I just, uh… Thanks, I guess." 

Swallowing down pancake and laughter, Bucky says, “You’re welcome?” When Clint turns to actually fill the mug with coffee, he adds, “Am I supposed to make a little speech now too?” 

"What?" That Clint doesn’t spill any coffee as he turns so quickly is a testimony to how often he has a mug in his hands. "No, you don’t have to make a - that was a speech?" 

Bucky shrugs. “Sounded like one.” 

"Well it wasn’t. I know you’re coming back from Siberia, and I’ll see you at the tower, so what’s the point in saying goodbye, right?" 

Something about his words registers in Bucky’s mind, and he rests his fork on his plate. “Okay, two things: I never said it sounded like a goodbye speech, and what do you mean ‘I’ll see you at the tower’?” 

Clint breathes “Aw, crap,” so quietly Bucky almost misses it, and stares hard into the mug, thumb stroking the rim as he gathers his thoughts. “I meant that the tower’s the only space we really share outside our apartments,” he says slowly. “Now Siberia’s come up for you, something else might come up for me, or another thing for you…” When he looks up, his face is emotionless. “We were just killing time, Bucky.” 

For a moment, Bucky doesn’t understand what Clint is saying - once he does, he can feel everything backfiring spectacularly, and no, the last thing he wants is to go to Siberia feeling like shit. “Really?” he challenges. “‘Killing time’, that’s what we were doing?” 

"Well what else?" 

Standing, Bucky pushes back the impulse to shout. “I could’ve done a lot of things after the briefing yesterday,” he says, eyes on Clint. “I could’ve gone to the gym with Steve. I could’ve watched an old film with Natasha. I could’ve stayed with Hill and Fury and gone over finer details of the plan. But I did none of that; I went home, I packed, and I came straight here to you.” 

"Shut up." 

"You know why I did that, Clint?" 

"Bucky, don’t." 

"Because the thought of not seeing you for five weeks -" 

"No, shut up - I’m not listening!" Clint actually pulls out his hearing aids, and Bucky advances, taking Clint’s head between his hands and holding their gazes level. 

"Look me in the - dammit, Clint!" He waits, both of them frozen, for Clint to open his eyes again, gentling his touch a fraction until that moment. Calmly, slowly, he says once more: "Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care." 

He holds his stare for five seconds before slipping. “I don’t -“ 

Bucky kisses him. It’s quick, because he doesn’t want Clint to think he’s after sex again, but standing so close together, foreheads almost touching, Bucky realises he’s caught Clint off-guard. “I didn’t come here just for sex,” he says, stepping back with no small amount of reluctance. “But if that’s all it ever was for you, then I can - I… Shit…” 

"You wan’ some more pancakes?" 

Looking up, Bucky sees Clint smiling, putting his hearing aids back into place. His own smile is hesitant. “Yeah… I mean, I don’t want to waste your ingredients -“ 

Clint scoffs. “My pancakes are shitty,” he says, grabbing both their coats from the sofa. 

"Oh." He takes his coat, and Clint touches his hand; barely two heartbeats later they’re kissing again, and it’s different than usual, the best kind of different, and shot-up memory aside, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s never felt so relieved in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Use the sentence “look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care” for Winterhawk!"


	57. The Moment

The puppy sits at Clint’s feet, head cocked, ears raised expectantly, tiny tail sweeping the wooden floor behind him. His one eye is fixed on Clint, eager and bright - and it makes Clint feel ten times worse. 

"Do we really have to?" he asks Bucky. 

"It’s kinda the done thing," Bucky says, sitting down next to him. Lucky scrambles to get up on all fours, attention now directed at the newcomer. Clint notes how Bucky indulges the pup with head tickles and no trace of guilt whatsoever. "Besides, there are good reasons behind it." 

"Yeah, from our perspective. We aren’t the ones suffering!" 

"He won’t suffer, Clint." 

"Still." Clint sighs. Lacking attention, Lucky makes a little whining noise, licking his nose and sitting down again, tail dutifully cleaning the floor, head switching back and forth between them like he’s trying to work out which of them will be the first to initiate playtime. "He’s already lost an eye, Bucky. Why does he have to lose - other parts?" 

"Who would you rather have humping your leg first thing in the morning?" 

"Ew, that’s - aw, Buck, I did not need that mental image!" He swats Bucky with a cushion in a vain attempt to silence his laughter, Lucky’s high-pitched barks accentuating the moment as he hops around on the floor. Clint groans. Leaning down, he scoops up the bouncing brown puppy and looks at him forlornly. "It just seems so mean…" 

Bucky drapes his arm across Clint’s shoulders, saying, “It’s now or never, babe.” 

Clint looks at him. “Did you just call me ‘babe’?” 

"… No?" 

"You just called me -" 

"Okay!" Bucky jumps up, stealing Lucky from Clint. "We’re going to the vet’s, with or without you!" 

"Hey!" Clint leaps up after him. "He’s my puppy too, y’know - and you called me _babe_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Oh! OH! Winterhawk: “it’s now or never, babe”"


	58. The Hardest of Trials

_New York Federal Detention Centre_

The door closed shut to Steve and Ms. Rosenthal still discussing the defence plan. Once they were out of sight, Bucky sighed, leaning back against the wall. He’d been in holding for more or less an hour now and already he was tired of it - of the chains, the rooms, his weakened left arm… It hadn’t been so bad whilst Steve and Bernie were in the room with him, whilst he had a ‘project’ to focus on, but alone he was at the mercy of his thoughts. He wanted his arm working properly again. He wanted his own, not-orange clothes. He wanted his apartment. He wanted - 

The door opposite him opened again. Bucky straightened, thinking it was the officer come to take him to his special cell (the cell that was definitely going to keep everyone ‘safe’), but once he recognised who was stood in the opening, the fatigue of his mind lifted slightly. “Clint?” 

Clint’s eyes, moist, were on the chains around his wrists. “Jesus.” 

For the first time in days, Bucky’s lips twisted into a smile. “I’m flattered, but…” He couldn’t quite follow through with the humour. 

It took Clint three steps to reach Bucky and throw his arms around his neck. With the chains restricted even further by the body pressed against them, Bucky could only squeeze Clint’s sides. It didn’t feel like enough; despite Clint’s initial appearance easing the pressure in his head, he suddenly became aware of the sheer weight of what was ahead of him, and for a brief moment, it was too much. It was like realising what he’d done all over again. 

"We’ve got five minutes," Clint said, voice tight. 

Bucky swallowed, and pushed him away slowly. “The guard said I had half an hour. Steve and Bernie -“ 

"Were only twenty-five minutes." Bucky looked to the wall clock, surprised to see it was true. Clint’s touch on his neck turned him back. "How’re you holding up?" 

He shrugged, the chains clinking with the motion. “I get my own cell,” he said, trying another smile. “And my arm. Thinking I might try asking for some books, make a start on that list Sam insists I should get through.” 

"There’s like, a hundred books on that list." 

"My schedule’s pretty clear." Clint laughed weakly. Against his better judgement, Bucky looked back to the clock, his heart speeding up when it told him nearly two minutes had passed already. It dawned on him then, suddenly and harshly, how little time he had left with Clint - and, possibly, as a free man. "Clint, I’m not getting out of here." 

Clint frowned. “What? But I thought you just worked out your defence?” 

He shook his head, saying, “It’s not going to work. It might, but I don’t - I still did those things, Clint.” 

"You weren’t in your right mind -" 

"Maybe not, but it was still me. The Jury’ll see that, they’re not stupid." 

"And they’re not heartless, either." 

"It won’t be enough." 

"Bucky -" 

"They’ll try so fucking hard, and it won’t be enough, it won’t -" His throat closed up, and Bucky screwed his eyes shut with it, desperate not to spend his last few minutes alone with Clint crying. That resolve crumbled when Clint pulled him against him, and Bucky instinctively pressed his face into the crook of his neck, hands clutching at his sides again. 

"You can do this," Clint said firmly, fingers rubbing the back of Bucky’s head. "We all can. We’re getting you out of here an innocent man and we’re ending this whole fucking fiasco, you hear?" He pulled back carefully, taking Bucky’s face in sure hands and brushing away a single tear. "Everything’ll be alright. And no, I’m not promising that, but it’s what everyone’s choosing to believe - and with good reason. You, James Barnes, are the strongest man I know. If anyone can come out of this in one piece, it’s you." 

If Bucky could have responded, he didn’t know how he even would. He closed his eyes again, ignoring the pressure in his chest and focusing on the feel of Clint’s hands against his skin. One deep, difficult breath later, and he nodded, blinking away the last of the moisture clouding his vision and mustering up - not quite a smile, but close enough, maybe, if Clint’s own was anything to go by. Sensing he was almost out of time, Bucky kissed him, hoping maybe the world would be kind enough to let it last - but he heard the door open behind him, heard the gruff “Time’s up,” and felt himself moving away. 

"I love you, Bucky." 

"I love you too." 

"You’ll be okay." 

And yet he could feel his heart cracking. The only way Bucky could maintain his composure back in the compound was to slip back into the mind-set he hated so much, the one that had caused all this in the first place - and that didn’t seem okay at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Ahhhh, if it's not too presumptuous of me, but can you write some angsty Winterhawk?"


	59. The Hawk is Sultry

Bucky came home from the gym one evening to the sound of music coming from the bedroom. Normally, that wouldn’t be considered particularly odd - except that this music was… more sensual than usual. Puzzled, he went to investigate. 

The second he opened the door, Clint - stood in front of the wardrobe mirror - twisted round and froze, a look of panic set on his face, hands raised as if Bucky was pointing a gun at him. After a few more seconds of bewilderment, made all the more confusing by the frankly outrageous gasps and moans coming from the speakers (that was music?), Clint blurted out, “I can explain.” 

Wordlessly, Bucky raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe expectantly. He watched with some amusement as Clint worked out what, exactly, needed explaining, and how he was going to do it. 

What Bucky wasn’t expecting (as if he knew what to expect anymore) was for him to come out with the phrase: “I can be sultry.” 

"You can - Sorry, what?" 

"I can be sultry," Clint repeated, on the verge of pouting. 

"Uh-huh," Bucky said slowly. "Gonna need more than that." 

Clint sighed and gestured towards the speakers. “Kate told me I wouldn’t know sultry if it pushed me off a building. I’m, uh, trying to prove her wrong.” 

"Can she actually see you being… sultry?" 

"… No." 

An idea took hold in Bucky’s mind, and he smiled, pushing off the doorframe and slowly advancing on Clint. “How about you show me you can be sultry,” he said, “and I’ll report back to Kate?” 

Catching on, Clint matched his grin, wetting his lips as Bucky stepped closer. “Anything I should do to get a good report?” 

Bucky’s hands brought their hips together, moving them both gently in time with the (still ridiculous) music. “I’m very persuadable,” he murmured, eyes dipping to Clint’s lips. 

"Well in that case…" 

Needless to say, Bucky’s report to Kate on Clint’s sultriness was glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "may I have some Winterhawk along the lines of some sultry dancing? Please and thank you :)"


	60. Trophies

There was a strange boy in Bucky’s new room. That wasn’t a problem – he’d already been told he was sharing; the problem was that the kid had taken it upon himself to go through Bucky’s things. Specifically, the bag containing his dad’s old belongings. 

“Hey,” he snapped, patience worn thin from trying to get Becca settled and calm. “Who told you it was okay to go through someone else’s stuff?” 

The guy turned round, face tinted red. He had dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and his body looked like it had just decided to accept the trials of puberty, though he was maybe a year or two younger than Bucky. Hearing aids rested on each ear, and for a second (just a second) Bucky felt bad about yelling. Then the kid said, “Well maybe you shouldn’t have just left it lying in front of my bed.” 

“Ms. Carter told me to put it there while I helped my si-” The boy was holding something in his hands, and Bucky froze. “What,” he growled, “in all that is good and holy, are you doing with my dad’s medal?” 

“This was your dad’s?” 

“What are you doing with it?” 

He looked down at it, frowning, and just as Bucky was preparing himself for a scuffle the boy closed the box and handed it back, muttering “Nothing. Just looking. Sorry.” 

Bucky snatched it from him, quickly putting it back in the bag. He started hauling all his luggage – rather, his two bags of stuff – to what was apparently his side of the room. 

“What did he get it for?” 

Not pausing in his unpacking, Bucky told him, with some reluctance (normally he’d brag about every single one of his dad’s achievements, but this guy had rubbed him up the wrong way), “Bravery and commendable conduct in the field. Posthumously.” 

His roommate hummed, sounding half-impressed, half-apologetic. Bucky ignored it. “My dad got a trophy once.” 

“Good for him.” He’d be out of here in a year, he didn’t need to make friends. 

“It was a steering wheel through his head.” 

Bucky stopped. A little awkwardly, he glanced back at the boy over his shoulder; he was sat on his bed, head bowed, shoulders hunched, a position Bucky himself was familiar with. He recalled curling up in bed with Becca at Jim’s before the funeral, reassuring her there was nothing either of them could have done and that it had probably been quick. (He’d offered to let her keep the medal, but just looking at it had made her cry.) Feeling bad about his comment, Bucky swallowed his pride and said, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” the boy grunted, “bastard deserved it.” He sniffed. “My mom didn’t though.” 

Silence followed his words, and Bucky’s ire was swallowed by it. As much as he wanted to apologise again, sense – and relative experience – told him that wouldn’t help. Instead, he smiled a little, and went with “I’m James,” to try and ease the tension. 

“Clint,” his roommate said, lifting his head and putting on a smile of his own. Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “Look, I really am sorry about going through your things. And the medal, I was just curious. I’ve never – uh…” He looked embarrassed. “I’ve never seen a real one before.” 

“Oh. It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Bucky said dismissively. “I’m sorry I got so defensive.” 

Clint shrugged. “You’re stressed. I get it. I’d probably have done the same.” 

They sat awkwardly again for another minute, the animosity and the guilt gone in favour of tentative, polite friendliness; but when Clint asked shyly if Bucky could show him more of his dad’s things, Bucky was happy to do so. It was, in the best sort of cliché, the start of a lifelong friendship (and more).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk (of course it's winterhawk xD) "What, in all that is good and holy, are you doing with my [insert prized object here]". Please and thanks :)"


	61. (Bitter)Sweet Serenade

There’s an advantage to not-so-easily getting drunk, Bucky decides, and that’s watching everyone else get flat-out wasted before him. Well, everyone except Steve. 

"Did you know Tony had a karaoke machine?" Bucky asks him over the din of Thor booming out some Asgardian drinking song. 

"Nope," Steve replies. "Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t have it back in the day, though." 

"Ten bucks says you’ll be up there before the end of the night." 

"Right back atcha." 

Bucky laughs. “Oh, hell no, nobody’s getting me up on that stage for nothing.” 

"You sure about that?" 

Steve’s wearing a horrible smirk, and Bucky feels a slight sinking sensation in his stomach; sure enough, when he looks back towards the main floor, he sees a quite hilariously drunk blonde stumbling towards him with a microphone in his hand. 

"Bucky!" 

"… Yes Clint?" 

"Come ‘nd sing wi’ me!" 

He chuckles hesitantly. “Uh, no.” 

"Aw, please," Clint begs as Steve sneaks away. Bucky sends his retreating ass a cold glare of betrayal. "C’mon, I got the perfect song!" 

"I’m sure you do, and I’m flattered, but -" 

"Oh, oh, it’s starting!" 

"Oh God, Clint, I’m not -" 

"I could stay ‘wake, jus’ to hear you breathing!" 

Turns out Bucky couldn’t have sung along anyway - he’s far too busy laughing at Clint’s well-meant yet terrible performance. He gets his phone out just in time for the chorus, and delights in reproducing it the morning after for Clint to see what an embarrassing boyfriend he can be. 

"Why didn’t you stop me?" he groans into Bucky’s shoulder. 

"You were serenading me," Bucky says through more laughter. He tries to be serious as he insists "It was sweet," but it’s futile. In retaliation, Clint steals the coffee pot, promising only to return it if Bucky serenades him right then and there in the kitchen. This time, nothing is recorded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don't know what's wrong with me today, but it seems like I'm on a romantic high, but if you could: Winterhawk: singing and serenading. Please and thank you :)"


	62. No Escape

"So, uh, you do this often? As a firefighter, I mean, not, like, in your spare time…" 

"No, Mr. Barton. This isn’t as common an occurrence as you might think." 

"Oh… So you don’t regularly have someone’s ass right next to your face?" 

"Normally they’re wearing pants." 

"Yeah, about that - they kind of… burned." 

"We know. We found their remains." 

"Right, of course… But, uh, you don’t mind, right?" 

"That your pants burned?" 

"That I’m not wearing any." 

"It’s not really my place to judge." 

"Oh. Right. No, course it isn’t, I mean… This sure is a long ladder." 

"You live on the sixth floor." 

"I do, don’t I? Is that a problem? You’re not getting tired?" 

"It’s not a problem." 

"Good. ‘Cause if you were I might - getting tired, that is - I might have to buy you coffee to say sorry." 

"Is coffee the regular way to apologise for having a heavy ass?" 

"Well, it worked for - wait, what?" 

"Coffee sounds good, Mr. Barton." 

"… Okay. Yeah, okay, great… Are you saying I have a big ass?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you try "i’m a firefighter and you started a fire in your kitchen but you’re still flirting with me even though you’re not wearing pants and im carrying you down a ladder as you compliment me on my muscles" winterhawk from a list of AU I can't seem to link orz."


	63. In Case of Raccoons

Kate won’t stop staring at his arm and, quite frankly, Bucky is a little bothered by it. When he’d agreed to watch the little girl whilst Clint took the dog to the vets, he really hadn’t known this was what he was signing himself up for. Granted, he probably shouldn’t have put on a short-sleeved t-shirt, but she’s seen him in one before and hasn’t been so… indiscreet. Can children her age be indiscreet? He has no idea. He knows nothing about kids. This was utter stupidity on his part. Well done, Barnes. ‘Cause of death: humiliation’ was not what he wanted to be printed on his death certificate. 

"You wanna watch some cartoons?" he asks, hoping she’ll be distracted, but the four-year-old shakes her head. "Okay… Uh, some colouring?" She shakes her head again. "Teddy bear picnic?" (He hates teddy bear picnics, doesn’t know how Clint survives them, but he’s a little desperate.) Nope. "Well then what, Kate?" 

"Are you a robot?" 

Bucky blinks. “… No?” 

Kate tilts her head. “You don’t sound very sure.” 

Sometimes he wasn’t. Even so, he pokes himself in the stomach, pretends to think about it, then says, “I checked. Not a robot.” 

"Let me check!" she declares, scrambling round to kneel next to him and poke him herself. Of course, she finds the softest part of his abdomen to jab her finger into, and then proceeds to poke his thighs, his neck, his cheeks, and his arms - which, obviously, brings up the elephant in the room; "Your arm’s robot!" 

He chuckles awkwardly. “No it’s not.” 

"But, it’s metal," Kate says, "like a robot." 

With a tight smile, he tells her, “It’s not robotic though. It doesn’t move.” 

The way she frowns is all Clint, and Bucky sends a quick prayer to the animal God (there’s probably one in some religion or history book) that Lucky’s check-up is quick. “If it doesn’t move, why do you have it?” 

"I…" He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been dreading this question. He had hoped it would come a little later, when he and Kate were more familiar with each other and Clint had started sending her to school and asking Bucky to pick her up with him - only that was a daydream, and Bucky has a more imminent problem to try and solve. "I lost it," seems to be the sole thing to say. He expects a follow-up ‘why’, but Kate just watches him, tipping her head again as she makes herself comfortable on the couch, her high pigtails flopping over to one side. And, as much as he wants to try distracting her, Bucky finds himself adding, "My real arm. I lost my real arm, and some doctors gave me this one instead." 

To his surprise, she giggles, lips parting to reveal her tiny, milky white teeth. “That’s silly!” she says. Taken aback, Bucky finds himself smiling too as he asks what she means. “Well, if you needed a new arm, why would the doctors give you one that doesn’t work?” 

"Oh." He tried to figure out how best to explain it. "They’re… making one for me. This is just until it’s ready." So he could get used to having a hunk of metal hanging off his weakened shoulder. So he didn’t feel like a complete (or rather, an incomplete) freak. So he might start accepting that he was never truly getting the limb back. 

"Are you getting it for Christmas?" 

Bucky laughs. “Before then, I hope.” 

"Maybe they’ll give it to you on your birthday." 

"Yeah, maybe," he agrees as she shifts closer again. When she picks up his hand, he quietly sucks in a breath, fighting the urge to move away and break the contact. He doesn’t expect her to hold it straight up and give him a high-five, pulling a face that looks partly confused, partly annoyed. 

"It’s not very good at high-fives," she declares a moment later. 

"No," he agrees, smiling widely despite himself. 

"Can it catch?" It can’t. "Can you draw?" With his other hand. "How do you use a knifenfork?" He just uses a fork. "Does it get cold?" Sometimes, but he doesn’t notice. "What if, what if it gets really cold - in winter, if it gets so cold that, that it gets ice on it? And, if Lucky tries to lick your hand, he’ll get his tongue stuck to it!" 

Without Bucky really realising, this Q&A session continues until Clint returns with Lucky, the questions varying from reasonably typical to beyond Bucky’s ability to form a coherent answer (“What would you do if, um, a… a raccoon wanted to use it to - to save the world?”). As it is, Lucky’s return requires Kate’s full attention, and despite how ‘well’ the time passed, Bucky still feels relieved that Clint’s returned. 

"Hey," he calls as Lucky charges in, Kate squealing and instantly reaching out for licks and cuddles. 

"Hey," Clint calls from the hall, "I’ll be there in a few minutes - some bird decided to dump a load on my head, and I think it’s drying, so I’ll just, y’know, go stop that." 

"Alright," Bucky chuckles as Clint heads upstairs. He gives Lucky a stroke when the one-eyed mutt pointedly drops his head into his lap, tail betraying how excited he is at the prospect of a new person being in the house. The dog moves away slightly once he’s satisfied with the level of affection he’s received, and Bucky settles back into the cushions to wait for Clint; but Kate’s staring at him again. Clueless as to what she wants now, he smiles at her. And waits. With no small amount of trepidation. 

Kate slides off the couch. Wordlessly, she takes his fake hand in hers, lifting it up and moving it out so that he has to lean forward again, and then she simply places it on top of Lucky’s head, steps back, and beams at him. Bucky stares at the scene. Lucky seems unperturbed by the odd object on top of him, panting carelessly, tongue lolling as he looks at Bucky, as if saying, ‘Eh, she’s a four-year-old human - what can you do?’. Looking back at Kate, Bucky just huffs a laugh. 

"I’m watching cartoons now!" Kate skips over to the television. Bucky makes sure she has the right channel before leaving her to it, heading upstairs to find Clint. Muttering from the bathroom - punctuated by "Ow!"s and hisses - clues him in, and he finds him stood over a sink with a washcloth between his hands, rubbing at a spot high on the back of his head. 

"Jesus," he says when Clint moves the cloth to wet it again. "Did you piss off a whole flock or something?" 

"How much is there?" 

Bucky opens his mouth to say there isn’t much, but… “A lot.” 

Clint sighs, dropping his arms and pouting. “My head hurts. And my arms.” 

Grinning, Bucky gestures for the cloth and steps close, reaching up and carefully rubbing the affected area between his covered fingers. “Everything okay at the vets?” 

"Yeah, he’s fine. Just needed a final jab against something or other. Katie behave herself?" 

"Sure. She, uh… She had a few questions about - y’know." 

"Oh." Clint looks over his shoulder suddenly, eyes wide. "She didn’t ask anything inappropriate, did she?" 

Giving him a wry smile, Bucky says, “Well, if you don’t count ‘How do you put your underpanties on?’, no, she didn’t.” 

"She -" Clint groans. "Sorry." 

"It’s fine," Bucky laughs, nudging his head back round. "It actually went a little better than I thought it would." 

"I hadn’t really told her anything," Clint admits. "Figured we’d cross that bridge when she was a little older and, I dunno, knew you better." Bucky’s heart may have just stuttered at that. 

Clint’s hair is soon poop-free. Bucky slips the cloth back into the sink, stepping closer to press a kiss to Clint’s shoulder. Clint nuzzles him back, turning on the spot and tilting Bucky’s head up for a sweeter kiss (and Bucky wishes fleetingly he could wrap both arms around Clint’s waist rather than just resting one over his hip). They’re content to stand in each other’s space for a moment, foreheads together, comfortably breathing the same air. ”She told me my next arm has to be able to give high-fives.” 

"What?" Clint grins, puzzled, but Bucky simply laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the Tumblr post: "I need a winterhawk fic where Clint is a single father whose kid is adorable and won’t stop asking Bucky about his prosthetic arm!!! Someone please write this :-)"


	64. Come What May

There are two men who regularly come and visit the Soldier - one is a blonde man who introduces himself as Steve Rogers, who tries to talk with him, repeatedly asking “Do you remember when”, or “How are you today?” and insists on calling him Bucky, saying that is the Soldier’s name. The Soldier can’t reconcile such a name with who he is; he tells Rogers so, and the man says “James, then,” and the Soldier lets him have that, at least. Rogers also says they were childhood friends, but with no childhood to recall, the Soldier has to take his stories of what they apparently got up to as just that - stories. They’re getting irritating.

The other man is blonde like Rogers, but from what the Soldier can tell there are clear differences between the two. For starters, Rogers is apparently a Captain, whereas Clint Barton is merely referred to as ‘Agent’ by the guards. He has no childhood stories to tell, but he does bring playing cards, and talks about his favourite TV show (a lot), or what various women keep saying to him - frequent names include Kate, Natasha, Bobbi and Jess - or pointless things about his one-eyed dog. He doesn’t give the Soldier a name. Sometimes, the Soldier wonders what this man is doing wasting his time this way, because at least Rogers has a connection to him. Barton is a babysitter.

And yet, the more he watches him, the more the Soldier thinks there’s more to it than a ‘good cop’ act. It’s hard not to miss the way Rogers looks at him, in such a way that belies his disappointment at not finding the boy from his stories in the imprisoned man. It makes sense, it’s logical. But Barton - the aching expression he sometimes wears, unaware that the Soldier is awake and can see him, is baffling. He’s hiding something, that’s the only explanation, and all that makes sense is that he wants something from the Soldier too. Unlike the Captain, however, Barton isn’t outright asking for it.

After a week, the Soldier snaps.

“What do you get from this?” he demands as Barton drops another deck of cards onto the visitor’s table. “What are you after from me?”

Halfway to sitting, Barton freezes. “Nothing,” he says. 

“That’s a lie.” The Soldier folds his arms where he stands, glaring at the table. “I know Rogers is under the impression that I was a friend of his when he was a boy, and I also know that you have more than a passing interest in me. Your whole organisation does, otherwise I would be dead. But if this is your idea of a clever interrogation, let me tell you now: it is failing. You might want to rethink your methods.”

Barton sighs, spinning the deck in his hands. After a silent moment, he mutters, “This has happened to you before.”

“What has?”

“This.” He gestures to the cell. “Your memory being all shot-up to hell, Steve trying to bring the memories back, me trying to help keep you grounded.” When he looks up, his eyes meet the Soldier’s with a deep longing that not even Rogers has shown. “We thought it worked, but… evidently not.”

“How long ago?”

Shrugging, he says, “Year and a half? That’s how long I’ve known you, anyway.”

This interests the Soldier. “We were friends too?”

Barton’s lips twitch. “Yeah, in a way.”

“What does that mean?”

He drops the deck. “Yes. It means yes.”

“So why haven’t you been trying to remind me of our history?” the Soldier asks. 

“Because last time we tried to make you remember too much too quickly,” he explains, “and it -” Stopping abruptly, he swallows, eyes shining. “It didn’t go so well.”

The Soldier processes this. “So, for eighteen months,” he says, “I was your friend, and the friend of Rogers’ childhood?”

“You always have been Steve’s friend. You don’t remember because your previous - 'handlers’, fucked with your memories.”

“And why would they do that?”

“So your loyalties were never compromised. They were your enemies, you’d have refused to work for them if you’d known that.”

“How do you know?”

Barton grimaces. “One of them told us.”

Ignoring the brief urge to change his expression, the Soldier thinks up a new question. Barton is being accommodating, and he’d be a fool not to take advantage of that. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Everything you just told me. Prove it. Otherwise, why should I believe you any more than I believe Rogers?” Barton said they had been friends 'in a way’. Given the look on his face at the moment, the Soldier is beginning to suspect Barton isn’t being wholly truthful (if he is at all).

Yet the man seems to be hurt - just for a moment; in the next, his face hardens, and he says, “JARVIS, can you bring up the latest social recording?”

“Do you have something particular in mind, Agent?” the ceiling voice the Soldier’s heard from time to time asks.

Never moving his gaze, Barton says, “Anything that’ll help.”

A moment later, a screen appears in thin air in front of the Soldier, a recording playing on it. A group of people sits around a low table littered with bottles and food boxes. They are all chatting amiably - at one point, the camera passes over Rogers, who pulls a face and says “Again, Tony?” to whoever’s holding the camera.

“This isn’t just about you Steve, as much as I know you’d like it to be,” is the response, and Rogers laughs. The camera moves on, passing over a red-haired woman the Soldier fleetingly recognises and another blonde-haired man, before Barton appears in the picture, grinning broadly, and then - 

“… might have worked if you hadn’t let yourself get arrested for her, y'know.”

“Oh, so you’d rather I was with another gorgeous red head instead of you?”

“They do seem to be your type.”

“Yeah, well you’d look ridiculous with red hair, just so you know.”

“Damn. That was gonna be your birthday surprise.”

“I told you, Bucky, Dog Cops season one is all you need to get.”

“If I bought you that, I’m pretty sure you’d spend more time thanking me than actually watching it.”

“All the more reason for you to get it!”

The Soldier watches as he bursts into laughter, leaning sideways to press his forehead against Barton’s shoulder. The camera holder says something he doesn’t hear, and the on-screen Barton and… Bucky, he supposes, begin protesting loudly. Blinking, he averts his gaze, looking back at the table where Barton sits, watching him gravely.

_“You know I love you, right?”_

_Bucky grins into his hair, pulling him closer under the covers. “The only thing I never question.”_

Reeling, the Soldier steps back. He searches for his voice as Clint stands, pushing out words past a hard lump in his throat. “What happened to me?”

“Will you listen if we tell you?” he asks, and the Soldier nods. “Then we’ll explain everything. It’ll take a while, and you won’t like most of it, but I promise you: I’ll be there. Every step of the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk Bucky goes all winter soldier losing all the progress he made and Clint helps him through it :)"


	65. Quidditch Quibbles

“What do you mean the match is cancelled?”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “I mean, Mr. Barnes, that there will be no Quidditch today. It has been rescheduled for next week.”

“But -”

“End of discussion,” she said before he could launch into his protests. The Gryffindor captain could be… passionate when he wanted to be, and she’d known what reaction the decision would cause. 

“What, we don’t get a say in this?” Barnes demanded as Barton appeared.

“A say in what?” He looked at her, frowning. “Professor?”

McGonogall pointed to the scroll in Barnes’ hand. “As I was just saying to Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barton, today’s match has been rescheduled.”

Barton’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

“My thoughts exactly!”

She rolled her eyes. “Has the forked lightning and torrential rain completely escaped both your notice?” The boys looked over their shoulders, then down at Barton’s sodden Hufflepuff robes. “This is a matter of student safety, and the decision is final.” Turning to walk away, she was promptly halted by another protestation.

“The Gryffindor team ain’t scared of a little thunder and rain, Professor,” Barnes said, cocksure. “In fact, Thor loves to fly in -”

“Mr. Odinson’s preferences do not speak for your whole team, Mr. Barnes - accidents will still happen. And no, Mr. Barton, your propensity for walking away from the greatest of falls miraculously unscathed does not account for the whole of Hufflepuff, either.”

Barton rubbed his nose, still sporting a bandage from Hufflepuff’s last training session. “I was actually gonna say I carry all of the team’s bad luck,” he muttered, looking sullen.

“Boys,” McGonagall sighed. “As much as I admire your dedication, this match cannot go ahead while the weather remains so. If you would kindly relay the message to your teammates, I will see you both here again next week.”

“There must be -”

“Good day, Mr. Barnes.”

As she strode away, McGonagall couldn’t help but overhear Barton say to Barnes: “So does this mean tonight we can -”

“Not if you’re still more Merman than human, Clint. I’d like my bed to stay warm and dry, thank you very much.

“Who said anything about your bed? The Fat Lady gives me the stink-eye every time I follow you in.”

“She does not.”

“She knows, Bucky, I’m telling you!”

The Professor refrained from turning around and confirming that statement. Just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor (honestly I see both of them as Hufflepuffs but the prompt won't allow this) Quidditch captains and the two fighting with McGonnagal about cancling the Quidditch match"


	66. Tongue Trickery

“Clint… Clint… Clint!”

“Gah!” He jumped, hand going to his heart as he said “You do know I’m not ready to die yet, right?”

“Sure,” Steve said with a smirk, “but are you ready to order a drink?”

“Oh.” He picked a beer at random, and the two of them waited while Natasha’s cocktail was fixed up.

Steve couldn’t help but notice how Clint’s gaze almost automatically went back to their table. He tried holding a conversation with him, and though Clint hummed and nodded, his attention was clearly divided. Eventually, Steve worked out he was getting nowhere after telling him: “Pietro stole all your bows to see if he could make a giant slingshot out of them” and receiving nothing more than a “Cool” in response.

“Clint.”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying.”

“My hearing aids are fine.”

Steve resisted the urge to sigh. “And your eyes?”

“What?” Clint finally turned to him, frowning. “Why would my eyes not be okay?”

“Because they seem incapable of looking anywhere but back at our table.”

“… Huh.” He was suddenly very interested in the beer that arrived before them. Steve picked up his and Bucky’s drinks and was about to head back when Clint blurted out, “I wasn’t staring at Bucky.”

Steve kept his face blank. “Okay.”

“Or Tasha, either.”

“Alright, Clint. Come on, they’re waiting on -”

“It’s just your friend keeps doing that tongue thing and it’s really distracting. Maybe. Sort of.”

He was blushing, Steve realised. He was denying staring at Bucky and blushing. The pieces fell into place all too quickly then, and a slow smile spread over Steve’s face. “You should see him eating pancakes,” he said, putting Bucky’s drink down and picking up Natasha’s. “Ask him out to breakfast and you’ll be able to.” As much as he wanted to see Clint’s expression, Steve had learnt from Natasha that it was far cooler to simply walk away. That, and now he didn’t really have a chance to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "A prompt for Winterhawk! Include the line: "your friend keeps doing that tongue thing and it's really distracting"."


	67. Puppy-Eyes

One puppy was white, perhaps, though it’s matted fur looked quite grey at the moment, and it positively refused to stay still, running everywhere it could and yipping excitedly. The other puppy was a much darker brown colour, with equally matted fur, yet was much more timid, hesitant to move away from the box despite keeping its gaze on its friend. They were both looking a little on the thin side too, and Bucky knew exactly what Clint, knelt by the battered box, was thinking.

“Really, Clint?”

Clint blinked oh-so-innocently at him. “Really what?”

“Oh no,” he said, laughing. “No, you’re not playing dumb with me this time.”

“They’re just puppies, Buc-”

“Puppies grow into dogs, Clint.”

“Great. We love dogs.”

“We’re super heroes!” Bucky cried. “We can’t just accumulate pets!” The white puppy hurtled past him.

“You never complained about Lucky or Liho,” Clint said, reaching out towards the brown puppy, who eyed his fingers tentatively.

“Lucky was already a mature, fully grown dog,” Bucky pointed out, “and he practically lives with Kate. Liho preferred Natasha to us, and he was a cat.”

“So?”

“Cats can fend for themselves. Puppies -” he gestured at the white streak now skidding around a chair leg - "need constant care and attention. We can’t offer that.”

“Maybe we can’t,” he agreed, still focused on the shy one, “but we’re in an entire tower of super heroes, Bucky. They’re bound to help out two innocent little -”

“Does Stark know?”

Clint stilled. “… Probably?”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are unbelievable.”

“He was fine with Lucky and Liho!”

“It took me forty-five minutes to convince him Lucky wasn’t going to piss on any of the floors!”

“And you handled that conversation beautifully -”

“So are you going to talk to him about these two?” Bucky asked, folding his arms.

Clint made a face. “Well, I mean, if he doesn’t know -”

“He will know, Clint, and when he starts yelling at you, I’m not gonna get in his way.”

His words went unheard as Clint finally coaxed the shy pup away from the box. Stroking its tiny ears with his finger, he grinned as he gently scooped it up, cuddling it close to his chest. Only then did his brain seem to register that Bucky had said something, and he looked up. “What?”

The force had gone from Bucky’s tone. “Stark isn’t going to let you keep them, Clint.”

He sighed, mouth turning down at the corners. “I’m not throwing them out.”

Bucky huffed softly. “Clint -”

“I’m serious, Bucky.”

“I know.”

The puppy in Clint’s hands mewled and wriggled, and he stroked its head gently, murmuring, “’S alright, you’re okay.”

Bucky watched as the restless one trotted over and flopped down beside Clint’s knee, its tiny pink tongue hanging out as it panted rapidly. Clint started stroking that one too, and Bucky slowly moved closer, squatting down to be on their level. He knew Clint missed Lucky - even he did too, really - but puppies were on a whole other level, especially abandoned strays. Then again, if there was anyone who knew how to handle tough strays… “We’ll take them to the vets first.”

Clint’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

He tried to reach for the white puppy, but the small thing wriggled away. “If Stark doesn’t already know about them, then you’ll have a better chance of convincing him they’re worth keeping if they’re healthy and look more presentable. The vet’ll be able to tell us how to adopt them properly, too.” Bucky looked Clint in the eye, saying once more, “But Stark is your problem. I helped with Lucky, and I helped with Liho, but these two are yours. Understand?”

Nodding, Clint leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, happiness colouring his whole face. “Have I told you how amazing you are?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, standing up as the white pup got bored of lying down and shot off again. Behind him, he heard Clint say quietly to the brown puppy, “You’re an Avenger now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky yelling at Clint for bringing home the new strays (i am completely and utterly referring to Wanda and Pietro because im giving them all the strays now)"


	68. The Wisest Of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, I have never had to have a tooth of any kind removed...

“Pizza is magic, Buck.”

“Is it, now?”

“Yeah… So magic. The magickest.”

“The magickest?”

“The most magic.”

“Oh, right.”

“More magic than Thor.”

“Really?”

“I think so. Bucky! Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

“Asgard pizza.”

“What about it?”

“That’s the magickest, Bucky. It’s pizza, so it’s magic, and it’s Asgard, so it’s more magic.”

“Have you had some, Clint?”

“Wha?”

“Have you ever had Asgard pizza before?”

“No, what is that?!”

“You said it was magic pizza.”

“Magic pizza…? I don’t think I should eat that.”

“No?”

“Yeah. No magic pizza. Magic is bad.”

“Wouldn’t have much taste, huh?”

“Wh- don’t eat magic, Bucky! Magic is bad for you!”

“Is it?”

“Yes, ask Steve, you should not eat magic!”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“It does things to you.”

“I won’t eat magic, Clint.”

“Like… make you turn into a rat.”

“Yeah, that’s not good.”

“I don’t want you to be a rat.”

“I won’t be.”

“Bucky please don’t turn into a rat.”

“Hey, I won’t, okay? I promise. You don’t need to cry, Clint, it’s not gonna happen.”

“I hate rats.”

“I know, I know. There aren’t any rats here.”

“Well duh, we’re the Avengers.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’re bigger than rats.”

“JARVIS, you still getting all this?”

“The recording is now thirty minutes long, Mr. Barnes. When would you like me to stop?”

“My dick’s bigger than rats.”

“Not any time soon, J!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk, Clint high after getting his wisdom teeth removed and Buvky taking full advantage of it"


	69. Red and White Lies

When they throw Bucky back into the adjacent cell, barring the gate behind him, the collision of metal on metal rattles Clint’s skull even more, and the fading ache returns with a vengeance at the back of his head. Closing his eyes he groans weakly, the temptation to give in and sleep filling his -

“Fuck.”

Clint drags his eyes open again, blinking in an attempt to abate his swimming vision. “B'cky?”

“I’m here,” Bucky says, voice strained, and Clint hears movement behind him: boots scraping on the dirt floor, laboured breathing (punctuated with faint hitches), and the sigh of relief when Bucky finally settles against the bars. If Clint turns his head, he can brush his ear on the back of Bucky’s right shoulder, warm and comfortable where the bars press cold and unyielding against his head.

“You ‘kay?”

Bucky’s shoulder rises and falls slowly and heavily. It’s enough to push Clint closer to the brink of unconsciousness. “’m fine.”

He’s lying. The words come out tight and forced, indication enough that Bucky is not 'fine’. In fact, considering how often he pushes those words out through clenched teeth (when they’re sparring and Clint hits too hard, the time a bullet grazed his side, after nightmares, after they couldn’t save that family), it’s a wonder he thinks Clint doesn’t know he’s covering up.

That, and Clint knows that Bucky’s metal arm was never designed to come off.

“You still with me?” Bucky says. “Clint?”

“Yeah,” Clint grunts, his speech more sound than word.

“They’ll be here soon,” Bucky continues, “and we gotta be ready.”

They who?

“So don’t you dare fall asleep on me, y'hear?” He’s still talking through his teeth - God, he must be in so much…

“Clint!”

“Hngh?”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

No, he wouldn’t dare. Not when Bucky needs him. Not now. But maybe a few seconds would…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "things Bucky said through his teeth"


	70. The Perils and Pleasures of Sobriety

Clint knew he was in for a long night when Bucky and Natasha practically fell on top of him then proceeded to laugh for a full minute because they’d done so in sync. By the time they’d calmed down, he was pretty sure he was prepared for whatever they threw at him next.

“Clint,” Bucky said, “can I ass you some-” Natasha snorted, making Bucky giggle again. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

Deep breath. “Okay?”

“Who has the best ass?”

“In, what, the world?”

Bucky sighed dramatically as Natasha said “The world doesn’t have an ass, dummy.”

“Shit, how drunk are you exactly?” She just smirked and drank more vodka. At least, it looked like vodka. It was probably vodka. (He hoped it was vodka.)

“Clint, c'mon!” Bucky whined. “Tell me I have the best ass.”

“Alright; you’ve got the best ass, Bucky.”

“No you’ve got the best ass,” he said immediately, and face-planted Clint’s shoulder, a move he tried to cover up by kissing the side of Clint’s neck.

Rolling his eyes, Clint didn’t try to stop him. Truth be told, he liked this version of drunk Bucky. This version was a much happier drunk, enjoying himself in the company of friends and not dwelling on harder times, past (and present) mistakes, or What Ifs that resulted in sleepless nights and dark circles under eyes. If Clint wasn’t on medical leave and therefore forbidden to drink alcohol until he was ‘better’, he’d probably be in the same state as these two were now, and that? Him and Bucky drunk at the same time for the same reason? That hasn’t happened in too long.

“Want your ass,” Bucky said into Clint’s neck, sloppy and slurred.

“You’re too drunk, Buck.”

“Your ass is drunk.”

“It’s really not.”

“So if I’m not drunk can I get your ass?”

“If you can make it back to bed without support, then… maybe, yes.”

“Nat!” Launching himself off Clint, Bucky staggered over to where Natasha was sneaking another glass of whatever behind Steve’s back. “Nat, y'gotta help me get sober s'I can get Clint’s ass!”

Yeah. This drunk Bucky was much more preferable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Things bucky said when he was drunk Winterhawk please!!"


	71. Lucky

“… and next thing I know, she’s driving me away in this British supercar, talking about needing a martini, as if we haven’t just spent the last week making out and blowing things up.” Bucky shakes his head. “Still wondering if I haven’t dreamed it all up.”

“Sounds like a pretty good dream,” Clint grumbles. Hanging out with a hot British lady capable of bringing down secret evil corporations and all the things Bucky implied in the bedroom? And not getting too badly beaten up for the trouble? Or reprimanded for fucking things up even more? Why can’t things like that happen to him, for once.

“Kinda wish she hadn’t just taken off, though,” Bucky continues. “I was enjoying myself.”

“Really?” Clint would never have guessed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t talked non-stop about the experience since finally reappearing in Clint’s life (as suddenly as he had disappeared, too. Did this Bond lady not let him communicate with other people?). Clint couldn’t see why she was so great anyway, if she’d just left him after all that. He wouldn’t have left Bucky behind. He would have savoured every second spent with him, the more intimate the better. Bond had that luxury - how could she just throw it away?

“Honestly, Clint, she’s incredible.” Bucky grins. “I can’t believe you missed out on all of it.”

Neither can he. Bucky got to play super spies with, apparently, one of the sexiest people on the planet, and said sexiest person on the planet got to play with Bucky. He can’t work out who he’s more jealous of: Bucky or Bond; and there’s only one way Clint can think to decide.

Without warning, Clint takes Bucky’s face in his hands and brings their lips together. For a brief second, he feels resistance, but just as he eases off Bucky reciprocates. And, wow, either Bucky is an insanely good kisser or Bond gave him some good tips, because Clint cannot think beyond feeling. Bucky is insistent without being demanding, soft and warm, moving just right, hands placed perfectly at his waist. In Clint’s mind, they kiss for several long minutes, and the whole experience ends far too soon.

“So what was that for?” Bucky asks after a moment, their breath mingling between them.

“Needed an answer,” Clint says, still breathless.

“An answer?”

“Yeah. Bond.” And before Bucky can ask for more details, Clint expertly distracts him, wondering what Bond was thinking when she left someone like this behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "While on vacation Bucky accidentally becomes a Bond Boy. When he tells Clint about it afterwards Clint can't decide whether he's jealous of 007 or Bucky. He compromises by kissing Bucky."


	72. A Pre-Emptive Strike

“Hey!”

Clint turned at the shout, mildly surprised to see the one-armed veteran from the day’s meeting waving at him. He had something in his hand, small and purple and very familiar. 

“You dropped this,” the vet said as he approached, holding out the wallet for Clint to take. “Saw it on the floor of the restroom.”

“Shit - sorry - thanks,” Clint sputtered. He opened it out, checking that everything was in order. Kate would staple it to his forehead if she found out he’d lost it again.

“No worries,” the man said with a smile, and moved to leave.

Before he could stop himself, Clint was calling him back - maybe because he vaguely knew the guy, maybe because he wanted to say thank you properly, or maybe because he found the guy mildly attractive, and that smile had been the first one directed at him that hadn’t come from Steve, Nat, Kate or Sam in too long. “You were at the VA meeting just now, weren’t you?”

He smiled again, though his eyes were slightly wary. “Yeah, I was.”

“Are you, um - are you going again next week?

“Uh… maybe?”

“Great! That’s great… I might too, so…” Clint could hear his Kate-voice groaning, asking _Where the heck are you going with this, Barton? Say ‘see you next week’ and leave before you make an ass of yourself!_ “Sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“James Barnes,” he said, offering his hand, and Clint shook it.

“Clint Barnes.” What? “No! No, that’s not - Barton. It’s Barton. Clint Barton, I mean. That was just - I slipped - my tongue - and, uh -” 

“You know,” James said, “if we’re gonna share a name and hold hands in public, dinner might be a good idea first.” Amusement shone in his eyes now, though Clint didn’t miss the faint tremor in his hand. But man, those eyes -

“Oh!” He let go of James’ hand, hoping the heat in his cheeks wasn’t visible in any way. Rubbing the back of his neck, he scraped up the last threads of his dignity and said, “We could - we could do that. If, uh, you wanted to…?”

James studied him for a few heartbeats, and just as Clint began to brace for the rejection he heard: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?” And received a nod in return.

“But, maybe not an actual restaurant?” James asked hesitantly. “I’m… still working on that.”

“Of course,” Clint said. “How about takeout after the meet?”

James agreed, and that was that. After awkwardly thanking him again for finding his wallet, Clint kicked himself into gear and finally climbed back into his car, dropping his head onto the steering wheel and blowing out a breath.

_You are a wonder of the world, Clint Barnes._

“Barton!” Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Idk if you've ever seen doctor who but there's this scene where sally sparrow meets di shipton and they flirt and he asks her name and she says sally shipton instead of sally sparrow and earlier I was thinking about winterhawk and said Clinton Francis Barnes instead of barton and was like what if Clint and Bucky meet randomly on street and they flirt and bucky introduced himself first and then Clint says Clint Barnes and buckys like maybe we should have dinner before marriage :D"
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know, that episode of _Doctor Who_ , 'Blink', is superb and definitely worth a watch. You may need a pillow to hide behind though.


	73. Choices

“How is he?”

Clint lifted his head a fraction, dropping it back onto his fist when he saw Natasha at the door. “Creed got his claws in good,” he said quietly, eyes back on Bucky. “There’s a lot of damage under the shoulder plate they couldn’t quite get to. Broken ribs, fractured wrist, torn knee ligament…” He sighed, free fingers still running gently through Bucky’s hair. “He was in a lot of pain.”

“But he’ll be alright,” she said, stepping closer to the hospital bed.

“Yeah.”

Lying on his side to ease pressure on his shoulder, Bucky looked only marginally more comfortable in sleep than he did after waking up from surgery. His skin wasn’t quite back to its normal pallor, and his brow wasn’t fully relaxed, even ten minutes after succumbing to the morphine. Clint had helped him to settle by carding his hair, and had the surest feeling that Bucky would wake if he stopped - the motion helped calm him too, when he thought about it, though he remained anxious.

“Think you can spare yourself for fifteen minutes?” Natasha asked gently. “Hill wants to debrief.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“The sooner you go -”

“The sooner it’s over, I know. I just…” He didn’t want to move. The last time he let Bucky out of his sight he almost lost him, and the thought of leaving him again before knowing he was out of the woods made his stomach squirm.

Natasha’s delicate hand rested on his shoulder. “It’s just a fifteen minute video call,” she said, still gentle, but with a firmness creeping into her tone. “I’ll watch him while you’re gone, but you need to start getting used to being away from him.”

Clint looked up sharply. “Why?”

She smirked. “Besides the fact that the nurses will kick you out once visiting hours are over?” He frowned at her, and her smirk grew. She slipped out her phone, the screen lighting up as she presented it to him; a tracking signal pulsed on a hybrid map, the small label attached to it reading ‘Victor Charlie’. It was coming from Maine. With the Quinjet, he wouldn’t be gone more than six hours.

“You’ll make sure he’s okay?”

“Absolutely. He’s my friend, too.”

His stomach fluttered as his mind began to race. He looked back down at Bucky, bandaged and bruised and beaten, and pictured Creed trussed up and helpless for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to collect. “Alright,” he muttered, standing. “I’m gonna go home, get some things, then I’ll be back. If he wakes up, tell him… Uh…”

Natasha settled into the chair, mischief already in her eyes. “I’ll tell him you went on an extended coffee run.” Clint’s phone began to vibrate, and her expression softened. “He won’t worry. Now go.”

He nodded his thanks. “Hill doesn’t know?” Natasha looked downright offended, and he left.

Later, with all his equipment in a duffel bag and the tracker phone strapped to his wrist, he stepped back into Bucky’s room, heart racing. “He woke up briefly when the pain meds wore off,” Natasha said. “I told him you went looking for better coffee.” An empty cup sat by her chair leg.

“Is he okay?” Clint asked, moving round her to stand by Bucky’s head.

“He went back to sleep after they gave him another dose.”

“How long did it take?”

“Twenty minutes? He’s been out for that long, at least.”

Clint cringed. If he’d come back straight after the debrief, Bucky might have gone to sleep more quickly. He had no doubt that Natasha could call his bullshit if he tried to claim he wasn’t in pain, but knowing Bucky’s current state himself would make his impending excursion slightly easier. Because he was still going, no matter how distressing the thought of Bucky waking up in pain without him.

“Clint.”

“Yeah.” He bent down to kiss the side of Bucky’s head, whispering, “I’ll be back soon,” into the short, sweaty strands. He straightened and turned to go, taking one step before clammy fingers grasped his without warning. Heart skipping a beat, he looked back.

Bucky had barely moved, but he was staring at Clint through tired, heavy-lidded eyes, his one good arm extended awkwardly to just reach Clint’s hand. For a few seconds, he did nothing, but when Clint began to think he was pleading with him to stay Bucky said, strained and tremulous: “Don’t be an idiot.”

With a small huff, Clint smiled, squeezing Bucky’s fingers. “I’ll try.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky drew back his arm, a deep wince creasing his features as he shifted minutely. Clint ignored the way his stomach flipped, bade Natasha a silent goodbye, and made his way out of the hospital.


	74. The Great Gummy Bear Gambol

“What do you mean they’re sugarless?”

Trying not to laugh, Bucky hands the packet back to Clint. “That’s what it says on the wrapping.”

“Aw, shit,” Clint groans, flopping back on Bucky’s bed. “Barney’s gonna kill me.”

“He won’t kill you.”

“He won’t be happy with sugarless gummy bears though.”

“Why’s he even making you buy him gummy bears?” Bucky asks, helping himself to another Oreo from the bowl between them.

“Payment for him not telling Dad that this is where I come once a week instead of doing archery twice a week,” Clint explains glumly. “He’s too lazy to go to the shop himself.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” Clint sighs, twisting onto his front and staring at the sugarless gummy bears. “Hey,” he says a minute later, “I might have an idea.”

Recognising the look on his face (the one that had once led to a 2 litre bottle of Coke covering the walls and lockers of part of the school), Bucky sits up. “What kind of idea?”

“A good one!” Launching himself off the bed, Clint hurries out of Bucky’s room. “Didn’t you say Becca had gummy bears at her party?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Bucky scrambles after him, already fearing the worst.

“Where’s the packet?”

“In the tr- Clint, no!”

He’s already at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s alright, this’ll work!”

“That’s what you said about the motorised parrot!” Bucky hurtles down after him, finding him in the kitchen with the (formerly) discarded gummy bear packet on the counter. He wrinkles his nose. “You did not just rummage through our kitchen trash can for that.”

“Relax, it was on top,” Clint says. “It doesn’t smell. Now all I have to do is switch the bears from the sugarless packet to the normal one, and Barney’ll never know!”

Folding his arms, Bucky shakes his head. “This can only end badly.”

“Bucky,” Clint says, struggling to open the sugarless gummy bears’ packaging, “it’s the most simple yet effective plan to have ever been planned. How could it possibly go -” The packet splits without warning, and both Clint and Bucky stand there, jaws open, as every last sugarless gummy bear dives for the floor. “Shit.”

“Told you.”

“Shit shit!”

“You never learn, do you?”

“Bucky, help me!”

And Bucky, with all the generosity of a lovelorn sixteen-year-old, says, “Give me one reason why?” Grinning, he adds, “I’m quite enjoying this.”

Clint looks up at him from the floor, one hand almost overflowing with the sugarless monsters. “I can repay you in blowjobs?”

To his credit, Bucky thinks about that. For a second. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "sugarless gummy bears and the chaos they bring"


	75. A Guardian's Love

When Clint storms into the trailer that evening, Bucky’s on full alert without knowing entirely why. When he all but throws his bow and quiver at the foot of his bed, Bucky immediately wants to know what’s got him worked up like this (he wouldn’t be a guardian angel if he didn’t). “Hey,” he says gently. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” the ten-year-old grunts, but proceeds to drop face-down on top of his covers, burying his face in his arms. 

Bucky goes to him, carefully perching on the edge of the thin mattress, not touching yet. “Clint?”

A muffled “What?” is his answer.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“So you just decided to come home in a mood?”

“Maybe I did,” Clint snaps, lifting his head to glare at Bucky. “Why would you care?”

Taken aback, Bucky says, “Clint, of course I care.”

“No you don’t!” he says, on the verge of tears. “Nobody does! Carson only cares about getting money, Jacques and Buck only care about the performance, Barney only cares about himself, and no-one else wants to give a shit either!”

“Clint -” Bucky puts a hand on his small shoulder, but Clint shrugs it off and hides his face in his pillow again. “I do care, I promise.” (Too much, his brothers would say.) “Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” He nudges Clint’s elbow briefly. “I hate seeing you sad.”

It takes a while, longer than Bucky expected, but eventually, Clint sits up, fiddling with a loose thread in his blanket before saying in a small voice, “No-one wants to learn sign language.”

“Really?”

He sniffs as he nods. “I asked Carson if I could get some hearing aids like you suggested, but he said they were too expensive, so then I told Jacques and Buck that I could teach them some words for when my ears aren’t so good but they said they didn’t have time - and when I asked Barney for help, he said he didn’t see the point in anyone else knowing it.”

Bucky’s heart breaks a little. “Oh, Clint.” As the tears start to fall, Bucky pulls him onto his lap, cuddling him close and secretly curling his wings around the boy for extra comfort. “They might just be a bit busy now,” he says, knowing it’s a pathetic platitude. “Maybe you just asked them at the wrong time.”

“So why didn’t they say that?” Clint says, voice thick with tears. “Carson didn’t - he didn’t even think about it, he - just said no.”

“I’ll talk to Carson,” he says. “If we get you hearing aids, you won’t have to worry about not hearing Jacques or Buck properly sometimes, right?” Sniffling, Clint nods his head where it rests against Bucky’s shoulder, his hair brushing the bare skin of his neck. “Hang tight, Hawkeye,” Bucky says, dropping a kiss to the dirty blonde tufts. “You’re still gonna be the best archer people have ever seen.”

A tiny chuckle comes from Clint, followed promptly by another large sniff. He stays curled up against Bucky’s chest until dinner time, and it’s only when he slides off Bucky’s lap that the angel retracts his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Hey. Winterhawk hurt/comfort please :)"


	76. Sign This

He took sign language classes because Carol had said it would help him exercise his hand, not so that he could find attractive teachers. Although, as Nat had pointed out when he came back from his first session complaining, this was the first person Bucky had genuinely liked from the get-go since coming back from his tour six months ago (six months too soon).

“How long do I have to take these classes for?” he asked her.

Nat shrugged. “After you’ve passed level one? I don’t know. Ask Carol.”

Bucky groaned, hiding his face in a couch cushion. “She’ll probably say ‘indefinitely’. Pretty sure that’s her favourite word.”

“What’s the problem?” she laughed. “The more classes you attend, the longer you get to spend time with what’s-his-name.”

“Clint.”

“Right. How is that a bad thing?”

He lifted his head to glower at her. “Because I can’t concentrate on what his hands are doing, so it’ll look like I’m not getting it, and with my hand and arm, it…” Bucky shook his head, hugging the cushion tighter.

“He knows about your arm,” Nat pointed out, “and you said Carol knew him; she wouldn’t have recommended him if she didn’t think you two would get along. Okay - how about this.” She tugged the cushion away from Bucky, setting it in her lap as she grinned at him. “Outside of his lessons, you learn how to sign ‘Will you go on a date with me?’. That way, you kill a few birds with one stone: you impress and charm him, exercise your hand, and show that you have, in fact, been paying attention.”

Staring at her, Bucky said, “You’re kidding, right?” But he knew that gleam in her eye, and it meant she was deadly serious. There was no getting away from this.

So, a few weeks later, he found himself sat face to face once more with the seriously attractive Clint Barton, all sandy-haired and bright-eyed with his purple hearing aids, ready to ask the question. His only problem was figuring out when to do it; he was nervous and tense throughout the whole lesson, because what if Clint misunderstood? What if he said no? What if he thought Bucky was being creepy or inappropriate? What if he cancelled their sessions?

“Bucky?”

He blinked, coming back to the present. “Yeah?”

“I said same time next week?”

“Oh. Uh, sure, that’s…” He hadn’t realised it was the end of the lesson already. That meant now or never. “Hey, can I um - can I ask you something?”

“Course,” Clint said. “What’s up?”

With his hands shaking so badly he worried he’d end up signing something else by accident, Bucky signed out the question he and Nat had been practising at home, and, with baited breath, awaited the answer.

Later, when he practically skipped through the door to his and Nat’s place, she sat him down and demanded a step-by-step recount of events. When Bucky got to the part where Clint grinned before saying yes, he told her how his face “just lights up when he smiles, Nat, I tell you - he just…” He laid back on the couch, sighing dreamily. “Glows.”

Natasha, having never heard Bucky spout such sap about anyone in the twenty years she’d known him, promptly choked on her tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Winterhawk; Clint is Barnes' new ASL teacher."


	77. Obstacles

Clint can’t help it. Bucky Barnes is incredibly attractive, completely and utterly out of his league, and that makes it damn near impossible for Clint to act normally around the guy. He daren’t dream of holding a conversation with him - what would they talk about? How many people they’ve killed? What it’s like to be working for the enemy? Adventures with Nat? Compare nightmares?

One example of such disastrous discourse took place at Stark’s one evening during a big party of some kind. Clint had been admiring the view, quietly marvelling at the fact that they’d managed to keep the damage from the Chitauri invasion limited to a comparatively small area, when Bucky had appeared next to him, drink in non-metal hand, smiling. “Nice view,” he’d said, and Clint? Clint had said this:

“Yes. It is. You’ve got the - the city, and the - cars. And lights. And the… sky. And… Oh, I think I just heard Maria say my name so see you round don’t fall - uh.” He couldn’t have run away any faster.

Bucky, meanwhile, was gradually feeling more and more dejected. Out of all the Avengers who weren’t Steve or Natasha, Clint was the one he thought he could get along with best. He liked his sense of humour, his haphazard way of going about life, and his determination to do right by people. He also had a very nice smile. But the more Bucky tried talking to him, the more he began to realise there was something of an elephant between them - namely, his past ‘misdemeanours’, as JARVIS had once put it. 

And really, Bucky can’t blame Clint for that. He’d found it hard at first too, coming to terms with exactly what he’d been used for. The fact that he was used didn’t make things better either; he still had blood on his hands, of innocents and not-innocents, but the fact that he was responsible for much of how the world was today? That was hard to ignore, and it would be unfair to ask others to do so for his sake. If Clint was really that bothered by Bucky’s past, Bucky would just have to accept that and let time handle everything.

So when he goes into the range one day and finds Clint there alone, Bucky fully expects him to bolt as usual. Instead, Clint pauses in his shooting, glances at the door, then carries on (albeit with much more tension in his posture than before he’d noticed Bucky’s entrance).

“Hey,” Bucky says after a minute. “You seen Natasha around? She wanted me to assess her rifle skills.”

“Uh, no,” Clint answers. “I haven’t seen her. Around here, I mean. I’ve seen her before. Y'know, we were a team. Not like you two were, but… no I haven’t seen her today. Sorry.”

Hiding a smirk, Bucky nods. She’s probably on her way.

“Have - have you seen Steve?”

Bucky frowns. “Steve?”

“Yeah.” Clint lowers his bow, actually looking at Bucky for what could possibly be the first time. “He said he wanted to talk about something with me, said we could do it here. Should’ve been here twenty minutes ago.”

Shaking his head, Bucky says, “Not seen him either. Sorry.”

“Oh. ’s alright. Thanks.” Clint goes back to shooting.

They’re silent for a few minutes, each waiting for their friend, when Bucky decides to take the opportunity to address the tension between them. “Look,” he begins, “I know that - I know my history is a lot to take in, and that a lot of people are still… uncomfortable with it. And me. So, if you’d rather we didn’t cross paths so much, I can stay away.” He swallows. “I don’t want to make anyone scared.”

Hearing no reply, he looks up. Clint is staring at him, arrow nocked but seemingly forgotten. “No,” he sputters eventually. “God, no, don’t - you don’t make me - or rather, your history doesn’t - no, both of - I’m not bothered about any of that!”

Confused, Bucky asks, “Then why do you never want to talk to me? Whenever I get close enough, you freak out and run off before we can actually have a conversation.”

“Yeah. Uh, about that…” Clint places his bow and the arrow on a nearby table, hand rubbing the back of his head as he approaches Bucky. “I… I do get nervous around you, but only because…” He takes a deep breath. “Shit. I like you, okay? Like, a lot. And I know that’s ridiculous because like you said I’m terrible at behaving normally around you and now I can see I’ve made you feel bad and I never intended to do that -”

“You like me?”

Clint stalls. “Yes?”

Feeling the smile spread on his face, Bucky admits, “I like you too. A lot.”

“… You do?”

“Yes.”

“… You’re not… Seriously?”

He chuckles. “Deadly.”

“Oh.” Blinking a few times, Clint still doesn’t seem to be totally comprehending what Bucky’s saying until he asks, “So, do you wanna go for coffee sometime?” and Bucky happily accepts.

***

“Captain Rogers? It would appear Agent Barton and Mr Barnes have come to an understanding on the range.”

Looking up from the card game he and Natasha are playing, Steve grins. “Really JARVIS? How long did it take?”

“Fifteen minutes and three seconds.” A video feed pops up showing Clint and Bucky close together, Clint’s bow between them. Steve’s grin turns smug and he directs it at Natasha.

“You heard him,” he says, holding out a hand as Natasha scowls.

“Damn your good and wholesome faith in people, Rogers,” she says, pushing a ten dollar bill into his fingers. At least she can still humiliate him via cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Could you do some winterhawk nervous Clint who think Bucky is adorable but is scared Bucky would never want to talk to him. So whenever Bucky gets close to Clint, Clint runs off after stuttering nervously. Bucky likes Clint but think Clint hates him because he knows Bucky has don't bad things. How they get past this is up to you!!!"


	78. Heartstopping

“Which one will it be, Captain?” Zemo sneers, glee glinting in his eyes through the slits of his mask. “The hundred innocents, or your treasured archer?”

Knowing that time is ticking, Bucky’s cool begins to crack, and he clamps his left hand around the Baron’s neck. “It’ll be you if you don’t start co-operating you piece of -”

“Whoa, easy there Cap,” Peter says behind him. “We still need him to talk, remember? He can’t do that if you get snap-happy with his neck.”

“I’d listen to your spider,” Zemo gasps, and with a growl Bucky releases him, pacing away as far as the Quinjet will allow him. “You can save one of them, Captain,” their captive continues, “and the choice is yours alone.”

Heart in his throat, Bucky looks to the video feed once more. One half of the screen shows a hundred students partying on a yacht, enjoying their summer, oblivious to the explosives hidden on board; the other half shows Clint, chained too securely to a chair, explosives balancing precariously in his lap. He is anything but oblivious to his situation, and a shaky exhale leaves Bucky’s chest. A timer tells him he has two minutes - two minutes to make a choice and get the co-ordinates from Zemo to allow Stark to save either hostage or boat.

Except, there is no choice to be made.

Bucky isn’t deliberating, hasn’t been for the last five minutes; he’s been stalling, hoping against hope that a miracle will occur and he won’t have to sign Clint’s death warrant. Zemo’s been goading him, enjoying the torture he’s putting Bucky through. Peter, thankfully, has stayed quiet - either he knows what the answer is going to be or he has enough sense not to make this more awful than it already is.

If there was an audio link to Clint, Bucky knows exactly what he would say; the idiot would practically demand that Bucky save the student boat, spouting bullshit about just doing his job, or more innocent blood Bucky didn’t need on his hands, or living up to the fucking mantle - and maybe then they’d exchange a short, meaningful goodbye, Bucky talking until the last second… If there was an audio link, Clint would know there was a boat, and a choice thrust upon Bucky. He wouldn’t be sat there wondering why the hell his team (the love of his life) hasn’t come for him. He might be smiling. They’d have a goodbye.

“One more minute, Captain,” Zemo sing-songs quietly. “You’ll have to make up your mind if you want to save -”

“Give me the co-ordinates for the boat.” His heart stutters. He forces himself to look Zemo in his purple face. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter bow his head.

Clearly beaming underneath his mask, Zemo rattles off a string of numbers, and Bucky wastes no time in knocking him out. He repeats the digits to Stark, and once they’re confirmed, he stops.

He distantly hears Peter shuffling behind him. “Cap -”

“Not a word.” On the small screen, the students stop partying, confusion passing from face to face as the boat rocks suddenly. Iron Man rockets past in the sky. Clint pulls futilely at the chains and zip-ties binding his wrists, arms, knees and ankles, desperation evident.

The video feed goes static with five seconds left.

***

Bucky leaves Zemo to Peter, Stark, and whoever Fury sends to welcome and congratulate them. He stalks blindly from the jet to the garage, skipping debrief, and automatically climbs onto his bike. Ignoring JARVIS’ inquiries as to his intentions, Bucky leaves S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters on autopilot, driving until his tank is half full, and he has his first coherent thought in hours: bed.

At home, he leaves the bike out on the street, thinking distantly there’s a chance it’ll get stolen. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, it dawns on him that he’s still in his uniform. Standing in his living room, he realises he left the shield on the Quinjet. Lying on his bed (back turned to the empty half), he decides he doesn’t care.

***

Clint had been taking the piss out of Zemo at the start of the mission. He’d put on a silly voice, saying over-the-top grandiose statements about what he would do to each member of the team, declaring his minions would do all the dirty work so he didn’t have to get his purple outfit messy. He pranced around the Quinjet, making everyone - even Natasha - laugh, then easily discussing dinner options with Bucky once the plan had been solidified. He wanted Thai for once, not pizza. “Thai and ice cream, yeah? And you know what? I might even consider splashing out on Ben and Jerry’s, just for you. You can choose any flavour except vanilla.”

***

He hears his lock being picked sometime that night. Still lacking the ability to care, he half-heartedly resigns himself to stopping the intruder only if they try to kill him (Clint would burst a vein if Bucky gave up on his own life). He’s mildly surprised when there’s a knock at his bedroom door, but his interest diminishes again when Natasha’s voice sounds from the other side; “James, I know you’re in there. Are you going to be a gentleman or do I have to let myself in again?”

Bucky doesn’t stir, and seconds later she’s standing in his line of sight. No longer in her Black Widow suit, she still stands as if facing off with another pathetic excuse for a Hydra leader, and if Bucky wasn’t continuing to be apathetic about anything and everything he might have had the sense to be nervous.

“You need to come back to base.”

“Why?” he croaks, the word catching in his throat.

“Because you were an idiot who ran off before asking the important questions,” Natasha says, devoid of sympathy or sorrow. “And now, there’s a worried and upset man trapped in medical with nobody able to tell him where his boyfriend is and why he can’t be contacted.”

Blinking for the first time in hours, Bucky forces out a dry “What?”

In a softer tone, she says, “Clint’s alive, James,” and Bucky actually cranes his neck to look at her face. “The co-ordinates were for the boat and his location, with the latter being underwater. Stark’s EMP took out both devices and we got to Clint while he handled the boat. So stop wallowing, and come with me.”

He all but drags her out of his apartment.

***

“Hey,” Clint says, patting Bucky’s right arm wrapped tightly around his neck. “I came out in one piece - would kind of like to keep it that way.”

Bucky sniffs, barely keeping himself from breaking down in the medical bay. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into the side of Clint’s head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry -”

“It’s alright,” Clint murmurs, voice watery as well. He holds Bucky as tightly as he’s being held, strokes his back. “I’m here. We’re both here now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Later, back at home, with Thai boxes and an empty tub of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream littering the bedroom floor, Clint reassures Bucky he did the right thing, over and over again until Bucky finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky has to make a decision to save clint or a group of innocent people. Super angsty but with a happy ending please :)"


	79. Just Rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have attended an American University for one year, but fraternities and sororities are still the most bizarre thing to me and I just cannot see the appeal (I was always asked what the British equivalent is, and there just isn’t one!). So please forgive my lack of understanding/knowledge - I am literally just throwing Greek letters together because the only ones I remember from IU are sororities and I have no idea if the same grouping of letters can be a fraternity in one place but a sorority in another?? I don’t think so?? How does this shit work?!

The game had already been going on for half an hour, but the whole venue was enraptured. Never before had a beer pong contest merited such attention, but this was a game like no other - Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes, Kappa Alpha Beta and Epsilon Delta’s best players, were finally down to one cup each, and the winner was set to take home the title of Beer Pong King, the loser a badge of shame (a literal badge - Wade had shown up with one, clearly hand made, with SHAME written across it). KAB and ED’s rivalry not withstanding, both Barton and Barnes had equal claim to the title, and to them, there was much more at stake than a badge or a crown (also made by Wade).

“You’d think this was a basketball game or something,” Steve whispered to Sam as Bucky scooped up a ping pong ball.

Sam snorted. “Way more cameras here than at a basketball game.”

“Seriously? Everyone takes their phones to a bas-”

“Sshh!” someone hissed behind them. Sam raised his eyebrows, and they turned back to the table.

Hand poised to throw, Barnes rolled the ball between his fingers, and just as Steve thought the guy in front of him was going to pass out from not breathing, he tossed it. The ball arced elegantly through the air, bouncing off the rim of Barton’s last cup. Instantly there was an uproar: ED collectively groaned as KAB began hollering encouragement at Barton, who smirked at Barnes as he collected his own ball up. 

“Am I the only one who sees the sexual tension between them?” Sam shouts to Steve under the ruckus.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s been there for years,” he shouts back. “Pretty sure they’re both in denial.” Sam rolls his eyes as the crowd is quieted again, and Barton takes aim. He barely seems to consider his shot before the ball is out of his hand, landing in Barnes’ cup with hardly a sound.

There’s a second of silence before the KAB side of the hall erupts. Steve sees Peter Quill leap from the crowd onto Barton, and the rest of the fraternity quickly follows suit, swallowing Barton and Quill whole in a matter of seconds. Bucky, meanwhile, turns to ED in disappointment, giving a slight shrug as they congratulate his effort.

“Hey,” Sam says, nodding to the middle of the hall where some ED brothers are glaring at the celebrating KAB members. “Reckon you might need to call in Nat’s lot before things get ugly.”

“You might be right,” Steve agrees, and sends a text to Beta Alpha Beta’s most fearsome member. Looking back up, he scans the crowd for Bucky, but he’s nowhere to be seen. When an angry shout comes from somewhere behind him, Steve decides he’ll find him later, and goes to try and keep the peace.

***

“That,” Clint says as Bucky pulls off his t-shirt, “was the best game I’ve ever played.”

“Shut up,” Bucky mutters, kissing him into the storage cupboard wall. 

“Don’t be - sore,” Clint chuckles between kisses, working Bucky’s fly open. “Your turn to do some ass-whooping now.”

Bucky trails his lips down Clint’s jaw, sucking at the soft spot at the back and grinning as Clint breathes out harder than usual. “Oh you’ll get your ass whooped,” he promises, sliding his hands inside the back of Clint’s jeans. “And if I make you moan loud enough that people come investigating, you’re wearing Wade’s fucking badge.”

Clint smirks the way he did at the table. “Challenge accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I dunno if this has been done but: frat boys!winterhawk from rival fraternities"


	80. Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for a mild description of child abuse…?

“Becca’s unhappy.” 

Clint watches Bucky pace his room from his bed, heart sinking at the words. He loops his arms around his knees, drawing them up slightly as he says, “Have you told Phil or Maria?”

“I did,” Bucky spits, never stopping. “They both said the same thing: they can’t do anything unless Becca tells them herself!” He scoffs. “So much for adoption being the best thing to happen to kids like us.”

“What did she say, exactly?” Clint asks, and Bucky relays his sister’s distress to him (almost word for word, from the sound of it). “Wow. Yeah, she doesn’t sound happy.”

“And nobody’ll do shit!” Bucky runs his hands through his hair, the bandage on his left hand stark against the short, dark strands. “I thought they were supposed to fucking care!”

“They do -”

“Then why am I the only one who’s worried about her?” He clenches and unclenches his fists every few steps, and Clint starts to feel anxious. “How is she supposed to tell Coulson and Hill anything when she doesn’t know how to contact them? She’s too young for a phone of her own, and I bet the Pierces won’t give her the number if she asks for it - and then they’ll just listen in to her conversation again if they do let her phone up! She’s a little kid, she needs help, and no-one gives a shit enough to reach out to her first!”

Suddenly, at the end of his current stretch, Bucky’s left fist slams sharply into Clint’s wall mirror, hard enough to smash the glass -

_The bottle breaks against the wall where his head had been a second ago, glass and beer raining down on him. He covers his head, feeling something soaking into his t-shirt, and he knows his father is shouting but he’s too scared to look and try to understand -_

“Clint!”

Clint blinks. Bucky’s crouched at the side of his bed, one hand resting on Clint’s ankle. The wall is cold on his back, ramrod straight as if he’s trying to melt through it. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he feels himself shaking. The back of his head throbs.

“You okay?” Bucky asks softly, radiating concern. “I saw in the mirror - you jumped right outta your skin when I -“ He swallows. "Is your head alright?”

“… Yeah.” His hand goes to the sore spot, feeling nothing there but hair (no beer, no glass, no blood). “Had worse. How’s your hand?”

“Hurt more when I broke Rumlow’s nose.” He flexes it, a slight wince crossing his features before he lowers it. “I’m sorry,” Bucky sighs as Clint scoots closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just -” He drops his head into Clint’s lap, and Clint strokes the back of it, hoping the shaking in his hands isn’t too noticeable. “I’m all she has left,” Bucky murmurs. “I’ve only got a few months left here, but if I can’t help her before I leave…”

“We’ll find a way,” Clint says. He knows he doesn’t sound convincing, but he’s been in Rebecca’s position, and he’ll be damned if he lets the little girl suffer any longer than she has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Clint flinching when Bucky smashes something in anger"


	81. Nowhere Like Brokeback

Bucky leant against the tree, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his back jean pockets. His Stetson sat squarely on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes as he stared out over the valley. Clint should have been watching the cattle too, but with a sight like that in front of him? With Bucky’s sleeves rolled up, the shade of the tree making his skin glow in the filtered sunlight, and his jeans hung low on his hips? How in the world was he supposed to find cows more interesting than that? 

“Can’t see anything too remiss,” Bucky said, gaze still fixed on the valley and the cattle below. “Which is good, ‘cause I was sure we’d have problems after that river crossing.” He looked to Clint then, and said, “Do you see anything?” 

Clint blinked, dazed. “What?” 

He gestured with one hand, still leant against the tree trunk. “The herd. Your eyesight’s better than mine.” 

“Really?” He never doubted it, but it was a compliment made all the sweeter when it was coming from Bucky. Finally doing his job, Clint tipped his own hat back a fraction and scanned the longhorn herd from where he was sat. “Yeah, they seem alright to me. Think it’s worth pushing them a little further before sundown?” 

“Naw,” Bucky said, pushing off from his post and making his way over slowly. “We’re good for today.” 

“Are we?” Clint asked, grinning as Bucky eased down to the ground next to him. 

He smirked. “Mostly,” he said, a hand guiding Clint’s head towards his own. Their Stetsons bumped before their lips touched, resting at awkward angles while they continued to make out, and Clint was distantly aware when his eventually gave up trying to stay on his head and dropped to the ground. He didn’t care, despite the heat, because this was partly the reason he continued to come out here: moments like this, where no-one could see as Bucky encouraged him to stretch out on the ground, leaning over him like a goddamn Renaissance painting and making Clint melt beneath him. 

And cattle sure as hell didn’t care if hands started to wander to places they shouldn’t. 

“One day,” Bucky said afterwards, when Clint lay panting beneath him, “I’m gonna have you like this in an actual bed.” He kissed Clint’s cheek, thumb stroking the other side of his face. “Maybe put that lasso of yours to good use while I’m at it.” 

Clint laughed breathily. “Don’t give me ideas,” he gasped, tipping his head to the side for another kiss. “Not when this is all we get.” 

Bucky’s smile dimmed marginally. “Would you, though?” he asked, voice quiet. “If we could, and I asked.” 

“Of course,” Clint answered, no hesitation. “Why else d'you think I’d come out here, to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Texas?” He brushed his knuckles down the line of Bucky’s jaw. “It sure as hell ain’t for the cattle.” 

“Right, it’s so you can boast about being the world’s greatest rope thrower without anyone challenging the statement.” Clint protested half-heartedly, laughing as Bucky grinned. Some of the earlier spark had returned to his eyes, and he took Clint’s hand in his own, pressing it against his lips. “No-one else I’d rather be out here with,” he murmured. 

“Same,” Clint whispered back. 

After a minute of staring each other like lovesick teenagers, Bucky flopped onto his back with a sigh, and Clint looked around for their hats. “How long before dinner?” Bucky asked, folding his arms under his head. 

“Dunno.” Clint settled himself into the grass, saying as he placed his Stetson over his face, “Until I’ve recovered my senses, perhaps.” On his left, Bucky groaned, muttering insults and curses to the sky while Clint beamed in secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I saw a photoset with SebStan and Renner as cowboys and I was like, gosh, I need Winterhawk Cowboy AU. So, can you... :) ?"


	82. Accidents Happen

Claire didn’t know who she was expecting when they dialled the number Clint held out to them, and never mind that she’s a nurse who has seen some pretty incredible shit in her time (both under normal and less-normal circumstances), but as Malcolm stands in the doorway, mouth agape, still pointing at the stranger’s very metal, very lifelike arm, she has to wonder when - if ever - they’ll stop being surprised by the kind of people that show up in their make-shift clinic. 

“What the hell have you done now?” the guy known only as Bucky (an utterly ridiculous name for someone with a metal arm) snapped at Clint, hands moving in sign language as he spoke. 

Perched on the back of Claire’s couch, Clint blinked at the newcomer. “I didn’t do anything!” he said, speech slightly distorted. He used his hands as well. 

“Really? So who’s that?” Bucky retorts, gesturing to the unconscious Matt still lying on the cushions beneath Clint. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Claire says, weary. 

“Yeah, he’s sort of always here,” Malcolm adds, moving out of the doorway at last. 

“His name is Matt,” Clint says to Bucky. “I found him in a dumpster when I was looking for my ears, and he seemed pretty beat-up, so I thought I’d help him.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “And?” 

He shrugs, gaze elsewhere. “I might’ve got stuck.” 

“And given yourself a concussion,” Claire adds, not keen to let him brush it aside no matter how chipper he seems. 

Shaking his head, Bucky turns to her and Malcolm. “Does he owe you anything?” 

“No way,” Malcolm says. “We don’t do this for the money.” 

Bucky scoffs lightly, mutters “Maybe you should,” then turns back to Clint. “You - outside. I’ll worry about you when I’ve got you back home.” 

Clint looks sullen, but he slowly stands and carefully makes his way out, mumbling his thanks to Claire and Malcolm. Claire doesn’t miss the brief squeeze of his wrist that Bucky gives him as he passes. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says quietly to them. 

“Not a problem,” Claire returns. “You got him from here?” 

“Believe it or not, this happens fairly often to him. I know what I’m doing; he’ll be fine.” He glances back at Matt. “What about him?” 

“Same story,” is all Claire says, and Bucky grunts in sympathy. 

“Do I have to ask you not to mention the guy with a metal arm to strangers?” he asks, and Claire and Malcolm laugh. 

“We can keep a secret,” Malcolm promises. 

“Ask the other interesting individuals who make their way here,” Claire says, and Bucky seems to get the message. He disappears with further thanks, and leaves the clinic silent in his wake. 

“Think we’ll see either of them again?” Malcolm asks a minute later. Matt stirs on the couch. Claire watches his sightless eyes flutter open as she’s done countless times before, thinks on Bucky’s words, and doesn’t doubt it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Claire calls Bucky. "I found your boyfriend in the trash" (Matt and/or Jess can be there too, choice is yours)"


	83. Accidents Happen A Lot

“Again?” 

“Again,” Bucky sighs, and Malcolm steps aside to let them in. 

Clint, half-draped over Bucky’s shoulder, says, “I don’t have a concussion this time.” 

“No, you just have a few badly bruised ribs, a twisted knee, and a broken nose.” 

Claire watches as Bucky pushes him onto the one examination bed they have, hands on her hips as she takes in Clint’s general appearance. “You look worse than last time, that’s for sure. What’s the story?” 

As she pulls on her gloves, Bucky, with a very pointed look at Clint, explains, “Someone decided to go stick an arrow into a nest of Russian mobsters, only telling me when he realised that he was being an idiot and shouldn’t have done it.” 

“Hey, at least I called you!” 

“Yeah, before they beat you up might have been a better time to do so!” 

“Russian mobsters?” Malcolm echoes, looking slightly disconcerted. 

“They’re everywhere, ask Matt,” Claire mutters, feeling around Clint’s ribs. He yelps when she skims a particularly sensitive bruise. “That hurt, huh?” 

“No, I’m just ticklish,” Clint says, forcing humour. 

“Mmh.” She examines his knee, his nose and another impressive bruise on his face, confirming what Bucky had said when they came in. “You’ve also got what I think is a fractured sinus.” 

“I told you that wasn’t just a bruise,” Bucky mutters, and Clint sticks his tongue out. 

Malcolm brings over a bottle of iodine and Claire gets to work on the surface damage Clint’s suffered. “Are these the same Russians that were in Hell’s Kitchen?” she asks. 

“Don’t -” Clint hisses. “Don’t think so. Tracksuits?” 

She snorts. “Seriously?” 

“Oh yeah.” 

“They’ve been a problem round Bed-Stuy for a while,” Bucky says, watching Clint with a small frown. “Quiet, until last night.” 

“Hey, Murdock’s dealt with Russian’s before, right?” Clint says. “Think he’d like to do -” 

“You leave them to me,” Bucky interrupts. “Don’t drag anyone else into this mess, no matter how experienced they are.” 

“Does that include us?” Claire asks dryly, and Bucky sighs. 

“Sorry. I knew you two wouldn’t need more information than necessary.” 

Malcolm shrugs. “That’s what we’re here for. Apparently.” 

Claire finishes tending to Clint, giving him some painkillers to take, and Malcolm offers him the bed for the night. “Nah,” Clint says, waving the suggestion away. “You two’ve played nurse for me enough tonight. This one’s turn.” He knocks his hand against Bucky’s hip, and although he rolls his eyes, Claire doesn’t miss the small smile on his lips. 

“Keep him rested,” she instructs, hoping he isn’t as bad as Matt in that department at least. “I’m assuming you know how to look after him, so just call us if anything unexpected happens.” 

Helping Clint up from the bed, Bucky snorts. “Clint is the unexpected,” he says, ignoring the dirty look that earns him. “But yeah. I’ll call.” 

“Thanks again, guys,” Clint says wearily as they leave. “See you soon.” 

“I sincerely hope not,” Claire says, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I loved your Claire fixes Clint up and Bucky comes to get him prompt thing and was wondering if you could do Claire and Malcolm meeting Clint and Bucky again after Clint gets into trouble???"


	84. WWBD?

As far as problems went, Clint Barton was facing one of the most difficult decisions known to mankind; having taken advantage of the late sunrise and the cooler morning, he’d eventually ambled down to the communal kitchen with the goal of putting warm food in his belly, and had not anticipated running into such a monumental dilemma: pancakes with syrup, or pancakes with chocolate sauce? 

He had the items in question stood before him on the kitchen island, either side of a pancake mixture, and each one was just as tempting as the other. Because on the one hand, syrup and pancakes was Tradition, a combination you simply couldn’t go wrong with; yet on the other hand, chocolate and pancakes was a combination straight from Heaven itself, and should be taken at any opportunity. Although, too much chocolate topping could overpower the pancakes, making the meal more chocolate-with-pancakes than pancakes-with-chocolate. Similarly, syrup was a weaker substance unless applied liberally, and then the pancake was at risk of becoming too soggy to eat. Not to mention both options could be messy. 

The more he weighed up the pros and cons of each option, the more Clint began to worry he’d have to give up on pancakes altogether, and settle for a less taxing breakfast instead. When his stomach started growling with a ferocious impatience, he sighed unhappily, pouting at both syrup and chocolate sauce as he wondered aloud, “What would Bucky do?” 

“Well,” a voice said next to him, continuing on as Clint yelped and jumped a mile, “he would make an even number of pancakes and top half with syrup and half with chocolate sauce, enjoying both without missing out on anything.” When Clint threw him a mild glare, Bucky just smirked, adding: “He’d also fry up some bacon, and offer to share such a delicious meal with the love of his life.” He then took a bite of the bagel in his hand, lips stretched into a grin as Clint searched for a witty answer. 

“Yeah that seems like a good idea,” he grumbled, grabbing the pancake mix. 

Bucky slung an arm over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Joining the world of the living now?” 

“What’s that s'posed to mean? I’m not that late getting up. Look.” He gestured to the pancake batter. “I’m making breakfast.” 

“Is it still breakfast after twelve-thirty?” 

“Whaaaaat?” 

Clint looked around for a clock as Bucky laughed, sticking his tongue out when he realised the self-professed love of his life was, embarrassingly, correct. “See if I give you any pancakes now.” 

“Alright, alright,” Bucky chuckled, seating himself at the table. “Have your brunch. I can wait a few more minutes to spend some time with you.” 

Clint resolutely did not blush and smile like a schoolgirl at that. 

“So, that thing you said earlier,” Bucky said a short while later. 

“… Yeah?” 

“Do you say that when we’re Avenging too?” 

“Fuck off.” He wasn’t going to admit to that just yet.


	85. The Power of Dirty Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with a little way of generating prompts a while ago, which involved rolling a dice to determine a drabble genre, 'verse, and a line of dialogue to include. This was how this one came about, and the 'categories' are given at the end.

“Hey, Buck,” Clint said excitedly, “watch this!” He held his palm out over the cafeteria table, eyes glowing white as he whispered words of power, and as Bucky looked on a smoky figure appeared over his hand. A second later, something thin and pointed flew into the smoke man’s backside, making him jump forward and clutch his rear. Then the smoke dispersed, reforming again in the original pose and playing out the same sequence. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What’s this for?” 

Clint giggled. “It’s my miscellaneous entry for our conjuring assignment,” he said. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Nope!” Clint’s poor smoke figure was struck again, and he grinned, eyes still white. “Neat, huh? I can make whatever I want with it.” 

“So,” Bucky said, leaning forward, “it’s like a smoke gif or something?” 

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Maybe that could be useful.” 

He looked up. “How?” 

Smiling slowly, Bucky said, “You remember that mind projection spell I got the hang of last semester?” and let Clint put together the rest. 

“Oh.” He flushed. “Would - would that work?” 

“I’m pretty sure.” He pointed to Clint’s smoke figure, who was now being attacked not with an arrow, but with something considerably smaller and less sharp. 

Clint’s eyes widened, and he closed his hand with a “Shit!”. Bucky cackled as he looked around frantically, glowering when he realised what Bucky had done. “That wasn’t funny,” he hissed. 

“Oh come on,” Bucky insisted, bumping their ankles together under the table. “It was a little funny.” Clint didn’t agree. “I’ll make it up to you after class?” 

That, he did agree to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers rolled: 4. Humour, 5. Magical, 1. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”


	86. Interference

Clint sees the spell coming at him the second he pokes his head up over the barricade, and it’s going far too fast for him to do anything besides close his mouth and eyes. 

“Shit!” he grunts, staggering backwards as it hits him square in the face. The magic dances over his skin, and he throws another one back in the general direction of attack, ducking behind the barricade again. 

“What was that?” Bucky asks, eyeing the edge of their hiding spot. Spells continued to fly overhead. 

“Dunno,” he says, wiping the last vestiges of tingling magic from his face. “Just a blinder maybe. I’m still good.” 

“Alright,” Bucky says, darting up to throw a distraction spell at the other team. “Careful though - Dr. Pym’s giving you a funny look, and he’s not one of our assessors.” 

“He’s not?” 

“No, he’s here as Medic. Shit -” A hard spell rattles their barricade. “We need an offensive. Now.” 

Clint conjures up his favourite spell, and Bucky nods; they stand together, Bucky’s protection ward shielding them for the few seconds it takes Clint to fire the magic-made bow, and they duck down again as hundreds of ‘arrows’ wreak havoc over the opposing team’s hideout. 

Grinning, Bucky nudges Clint in the side, saying, “Now’s our chance - let’s give ‘em hell!” 

“I really want some food.” 

Halfway to standing, Bucky pauses, looking down at him. “Clint, I love you, but now is not the time to ask me to grab you a club sandwich,” he says, throwing over a few offensive spells to keep the other team down. 

“I know,” Clint says, “but I’m starving, Buck.” 

“No you’re not; we had lunch less than an hour ago.” 

“Seriously, Bucky, I’m -” Clint’s stomach rumbles loudly, making him groan, and Bucky barely dodges a spell in surprise. 

“Holy shit,” he says, crouching down next to Clint as his stomach gurgles again. “But you ate like you normally do, you shouldn’t -” It dawns on him then, as the assessors call for the test to end and Clint whimpers and squirms in front of him. “A hunger spell,” he grits out, fist clenching on his knee. “Fucking Summers!” 

Luckily, Dr. Pym had the reverse spell to hand, and Scott Summers received a penalty for him and Jean for using an unsanctioned spell. Clint and Bucky passed with flying colours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers rolled: 6. Action, 5. Magical, 2. “I really want some food.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to find me on [Tumblr](http://dreamingangelwolf.tumblr.com/) and drop an ask for a drabble prompt! :D


End file.
